


Just This Once

by Skyesurfer12



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-22 05:45:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2496671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyesurfer12/pseuds/Skyesurfer12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Halloween Tale in Four Easy Bites</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

Just This Once

A Halloween Tale in Four Easy Bites

(Part One)

-x-

“C’mon, man. I’m still your best bud, aren’t I?” Morgan sat down on the box he should’ve been stacking onto a cart, a sulk sliding across his face. At the moment, the friends were alone on the Buy More loading dock, and it seemed he was taking advantage of it. “Since when did you stop telling me personal things?”

“It was right around the time I moved in with Casey, but who’s counting?” Chuck unfolded his arms and let out a sigh. “Here, take the other end.”

Morgan didn’t budge. “Okay, I get it,” he said. “Certain things said between a couple are private, but as life-mate of one of the members of this coupledom, I deserve to know.”

“Boy, these are heavy.” Chuck glanced around at the boxes, and a thought occurred to him. “Has anyone seen Casey?”

“I see. The ol’ ‘get my ox of a boyfriend to end the conversation’ ploy. Is that it, Chuck?” Morgan shook his head at the lameness of it. “Stop dragging your feet, okay?”

“You know how this carton would be easier to move?”

“Without me sitting on it? Well, good luck with that.” Morgan stayed planted, his feet dangling from the gigantic subwoofer’s box. “This is serious, man!”

“It’s just a holiday, Morgan.”

“You know, your avoidance tactics are improving. I think the big guy is rubbing off on you.”

“Buddy, I –”

“All right, Chuck.” Morgan cleared his throat, preparing to make a proclamation. “I’m afraid I have to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Invoke The Best Friend Clause.”

“I didn’t realize there were clauses,” Chuck deadpanned, trying to move the box on his own.

“Oh, you are mistaken, best friend.” Morgan rolled his eyes heavenward and held up a hand in reverence at the words he was getting ready to recite. “’Any secret, where the withholding of said secret could cause irreparable harm to the relationship, must be told.’”

Chuck looked over to squint at him. “I don’t remember that.”

“You were seven.”

“You’re invoking a clause from the eighties?”

“I’m invoking a clause because you won’t tell me, man!”

“Morgan, I’m sorry, but –”

“You’ve got quite a secret, don’t you, Chuck?” Morgan cut in, earning a startled look from his friend. He finally hopped off the box, but that was only to try and corner him. “Why is it that big of a deal, anyway? I just want to know what he asked you to be for Halloween.”

Chuck skimmed the area because if Casey heard one word of this exchange, he’d be rousting the kid for early morning calisthenics all next week. And the not the fun kind, either. “This one seemed to be a little ... I don’t know, different.” In fact, Chuck was still trying to make sense of it. “When I decide on a costume, I’ll let you know.”

“Okay, first,” Morgan began, grabbing Chuck’s arm and steering him down on the box, “Halloween is the day after tomorrow, so you’re officially out of time.” The little guy had to pause to shake his head at his friend’s predicament. “And second, if you can’t figure it out, well ... Doctor Morgan is in session.”

Chuck’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. That’s not such a good –”

“Ah-ah.” A ballpoint pen appeared in Morgan’s hand. He clicked it up, down, while he ran a hand over his beard. “Okay, give it to me. Verbatim. Every word, grunt, and growl that came out of the big guy’s mouth, and don’t leave out a thing.”

Chuck stalled by blowing a long breath and running his fingers through his hair. Morgan, assuming the role of curious love doctor, could be dangerously persistent. But not as dangerous as Casey.

“No can do, I’m afraid. It’s ... not something I can explain right now.”

Morgan sighed, looking so depressed that Chuck scrambled to find a way to make up for it. “Listen, I ... well.”

“I get it.” Morgan put a fist over his heart and bowed his head. “You have no need to open up to your best friend now that you have ... well, John Casey. He services all of your needs now, right?”

“Um. Morgan, I only meant – wait. Services?”

“No, don’t worry, man,” Morgan said, holding up a hand. “We knew it was going to happen. One of us had to break the pact. And now the other one must stretch his wings.” He shook his head solemnly. “Find another... life partner.”

Immediately, Chuck groaned. “You’ll never stop until I tell you, will you?”

“You’re darn right,” Morgan announced, ending the theatrics by bouncing on his toes. “Now spill!”

“Oh, crap,” Chuck said, resigned to the fact the only other choice was to break the fabled Contract – and Morgan’s heart along the way. “I know I can trust you ... with my deepest secrets.” He huffed out a huge breath. “So here goes. This is a little different because of what Casey asked me not to be.”

“Not? Hm. Okay, we’re making progress here. Good.” Morgan nodded and paused for more pen- clicking. “Now, in order to delve into the scary place that is your man-toy’s mind –”

“He can kill you with just a plastic fork and an empty Cheetos bag. You know that, right?”

“– I’ll need you to elaborate on,” and Morgan halted to make air quotes, “not being ... what.”

“I don’t know exactly.” Chuck looked up at the ugly brick wall, scowling. “Why is it important?”

“Why you ask? I’ll tell you why.” Morgan began pacing. And clicking. That, too. “We all know that your big mookie be –”

“Don’t say it –”

“Partner likes to use Halloween as a way to ... how can I say this delicately?” After a few seconds of hard thought, Morgan lowered his voice to whisper, “Scratch an itch.”

“What?” Chuck’s head popped up, and he abruptly remembered to look confused. Because secretly, he had figured that out two Halloweens ago. Asking Chuck to dress up in a short whore skirt, and then spending the entire night trying to get his hands up there kind of gave it away.

Truthfully, Halloween was like a big ol’ sexual playscape to the Major. And it pissed Chuck off to no end that even Morgan had managed to figure out the nitty-gritty details as easily as he had.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Chuck said quickly, hunching his shoulders.

“Oh ho ho? Really?” Morgan already had something cooking, if the body language was anything to go by. “Let’s see. Every year –”

“In my defense, this is only our fourth Halloween togeth –”

“– he asks you to be the person ... he can’t have.” Morgan poked Chuck’s chest to emphasize the discovery. “Spicey male strippers, untouched Disney princesses –”

“Oh, God,” Chuck muttered. He had to look up at him from his perch on the box just to give him a mortified expression. “Are you going to help me move this or not?”

“And the old West sheriff – with handcuffs! Man, it makes so much sense now.” Morgan glanced around, evidently satisfied that they were still alone. “Don’t you see the pattern, Chuck? Halloween is Casey’s playground. A hall pass!”

“It is not,” Chuck bit out defensively. “Casey is completely loyal.”

“Easy, man,” Morgan said hurriedly. “Of course he is! He’s John Casey. The man is loyal to the Buy More, for crying out loud.” Now that he was making progress, Morgan got back to work by picking up the clipboard to check off inventory. “I meant, it’s his way of cheating ... without cheating. Ingenious, really.”

“All right-y, then,” Chuck said. Slapping his hands on his knees, he prepared to push himself to his feet. “My work is done here.”

“Hang on, bro.” Morgan reached over and herded Chuck back down. “You didn’t tell me the rest.”

“The rest?”

“’Not to be ...’? This is Casey. I’m sure he was upfront and candid with his ... requirements?” Morgan peered at him suspiciously and tapped the pen on the clipboard. “Even in that noise-language of his you seem to understand. You can tell me.”

Chuck dithered, feeling a familiar flush begin now. One value Morgan could bring to the table would be to offer suggestions. God only knows his best buddy had a crazy imagination.

He could keep a secret, couldn’t he? Still, Chuck had to draw a line at the whole ‘computer locked in his brain’ secret. Casey would swap him out for a paper target if he told Morgan the mother lode of enigmas. And the man didn’t miss headshots from twenty-five yards very often. Or ever.

“Okay, here goes,” Chuck said, watching Morgan clap his hands together in anticipation. “He asked me... not to be ... well. Me.”

Morgan tipped his head at him. “You?”

“That’s what I said.”

“You ... as in ...?” Morgan began to curl his fingers, meaning elaborate, dude. 

“As in ... geez, I hate this.” Chuck rubbed his forehead, his throat suddenly feeling dry. “Not ... sweet as damn sunshine – his words, not mine. He wants me to pick any ... well ... asshole, okay? God, I can’t believe I just said that.”

“Ass – what?” Morgan blurted. “Is that what he said?”

Chuck tapped his watch. “Oh, look at the time. I should get back to the Herder desk –”

“Whoa.” Morgan’s hand flew out, ready to stop him in case Chuck had any thoughts of leaving. “You have to repeat that.”

“It was painful enough the first time,” Chuck mumbled. “Can we get back to work now?”

“Uh-huh. Interesting choice from the big guy,” Morgan said, smiling as he twisted the pen in his fingers. “In-Ter-Res-Ting ....”

“No, not interesting. Sheesh. It means nothing.” Chuck reached for the clipboard, even though he knew Morgan would put it behind his back until he got answers. When he did exactly that, Chuck heaved a breath of exasperation. “That’s what he wants. I get to pick. End of story.”

“End of story! Man, how can you even say that!”

“Okay, here’s the deal.” Chuck licked his lips. “Whatever is going through that head of yours, let me just say for the record that I don’t want to know.”

“It’s all starting to make sense, though, if you think about it,” Morgan replied, ignoring the protest. “Your man-meat prowls around here like the king of the jungle, bro! But what he really wants is just to let someone ... else take control. Oh. Wow.” His eyes lost focus as he stared ahead, considering the revelation. “A little ... subordination to a ... strong personality.”

“This is crazy.” Hell. What was crazy was that Morgan had concluded the same thing that had kept Chuck awake five nights in a freaking row! “He’s perfectly ... happy,” Chuck argued. “He likes the way things are. And can we change the subject?”

“Hey, no worries, Chuck. Your lion isn’t about to leave the den ... he just wants to ... well, ex-per-i-ment.” Morgan gave him a bolstering smile, combined with a hand clap on his shoulder. “He wants to have a little bit of fun, that’s all. And look at it this way, dude. It’s with you!”

Chuck’s eyebrows went up. “Experiment? This is the good news?”

“Well, sure it is, man. It’s perfectly healthy for couples to spread their wings. Explore? You know, spice things up between the sheets.”

Chuck winced. Casey had made him promise never to discuss their private lives – especially in the bedroom, and especially never to that ‘moron.’ It was almost as secretive as the Intersect, and Casey made it clear that the elf would never have the proper security clearance to know what was stored in the toy box under their bed.

“Newsflash, Morgan,” Chuck said. “I’m sorry to put the brakes on your little therapy session, but let’s consider my challenge for a moment. I mean, do I look like someone who can pull this off? Be ... something I really try not to be.”

“Dude!” Morgan’s jolt of enthusiasm made Chuck back up a step. “It’s Halloween! That’s the point! Casey’s right. It’s the one time for you to become someone you’re ... well, un-ironically, not.”

“All right, since you seem to have all the answers here,” Chuck said, blowing out a long breath while he ran a hand absently over his pocket protector, “who do I suggest I become?”

The question had Morgan rising on his tiptoes with excitement. “Now that’s where you’ve made your mistake, O pal O mine. The question is not who.”

Now Chuck did blink at him, because of all people, he expected Morgan to list off enough ass-whos to cover the next twenty Halloweens. “It’s not?”

“Don’t you get it? Who is irrelevant.”

“But, I thought –”

“No, man.” Morgan stopped him with a flat palm in the air. “That’s not what I mean. What is the question, my friend, not who,” he said, “and he already told you what, so your job is easy.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Chuck grumbled.

“You’re in, dude! The costume is Chuck Bartowski.” At Chuck’s dumbfounded expression, Morgan simply waggled his eyebrows. “He wants you to be the asshole.”

“Me?”

Morgan looked him over appraisingly, shaking his head. “Well, not exactly like you are now, of course. Picture this: drill sergeant.”

“That won’t work. I’m pretty sure Casey was a drill sergeant at one time. Not to mention, he could kick the ass of any of them.”

“Oh, wait, I’ve got it. With your height, man, we can go with the ubiquitous custom Italian black suit, impeccable fit, polished oxford’s ... an air of swagger.”

“We may have to draw the line at swagger.”

“Well, you’re going to have to figure it out, because your lovin’ large and in charge? He wants to be, well, pushed around a little.”

“Okay, this is where I believe a thing called reality must intervene,” Chuck said, shooting a look over the parking lot at Casey’s beloved American steel. This would not be a good time for him to come out and check on his car, which the kid knew he did a few times a day. “One, based on sheer volume of human matter, I would never be able to push him. And two, I ... just can’t do that.”

“Not physically – that’s just wrong, man. No. I mean figuratively.” Morgan arched a brow in a way that had Chuck squirming. “He wants a bad boy. You, my friend, are the one.”

Chuck squinted.

“Yes, you are,” Morgan went on, correctly interpreting the look. “I know you can do this. Remember Perchik? Arrested and sent to Siberia? You nailed him, man!”

“Seventh grade, Morgan. Besides, I was the understudy.”

“You had the audience in tears the night after Lucy Sternum broke her leg!”

“I dropped the candle and caught Hodel’s wedding dress on fire. It was smoke inhalation!” Chuck felt his insides twisting at the memory. “They had to evacuate the theater!”

“Yes, but until then?” Morgan said, clasping his shoulder. “You, my friend, were brilliant.”

Chuck frowned and held up a hand to stop any further elaboration on that night. “Okay, okay. Morgan, you win. It looks like ... I have my new mission.” The kid looked up to the ceiling for divine guidance, or even one of those flickers of hope, but it was only the fluorescent lighting going on the fritz. “Halloween night ... giant asshole, it is.”

-x-

“He did what now?” Chuck swung the wheelie chair around to face Morgan. Normally, it disrupted the karma in his computer repairing Force when someone barged into the Buy More back cage while he was in the zone, but this he needed to hear. “Let me get this straight. John Casey ... asked for your help ... to find a Halloween costume?”

“That’s what happened, man!” Morgan bobbed his head like a baby bird, but gradually it slowed and became a headshake. “No, that’s not exactly how it happened, but close enough!”

Chuck scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “Okay, I have work to do here, Morgan, so if you don’t mind, I’d –”

“Fine, I’ll tell you how it happened, but that’s all you’re getting from me.”

Chuck leaned back in his office chair and folded his arms over his shirt, still dubious. “Let’s hear it.”

“Okay, yesterday at lunch,” Morgan began to explain, “I couldn’t help but notice your meat pie headed over to the mall on his lunch break.”

Chuck rolled his eyes, ignoring the fact the other nerds seemed to have made a game of designations for Casey behind his back. At least none of them used the various titles in front of him, proving that the nerds were smart enough to avoid a death wish. “So? Big deal. He went to the mall.”

“Or more specifically,” Morgan said, stressing the importance, “he went to Halloween USA, the largest temporary costume emporium on – well, this side of the Burbank Freeway, but whatever.”

“Wait. You followed him? Why would you do that?”

“Because that’s part of the bro-code, dude!” Morgan moved around to sit on the desk, scooting Chuck’s tools out of his way. “If you have a chance to follow the perspective, er, spouse of your bro, you do it! You could find out if they’re cheating or –”

“Cheating? John would never –”

“Or have secret hobbies that could later devastate you, man!”

Chuck wrinkled his nose at the thought, because he was already well-versed in Casey’s secret high-caliber hobbies. “Or you could get arrested for stalking – and in this case, also get your ass kicked. Did you think about that?”

“I thought you wanted to hear this.”

“My bad.” Chuck picked up his coffee mug from the desk, because he could see this would take a few minutes. “How in the world did you help Casey with a costume? Without getting killed?”

“I know, right? So after lunch, I couldn’t help but notice that your All-Beef Hot Pocket came back empty handed.” Morgan tilted his head. “And more growly than usual, I might add.”

“Halloween mission failure will do that to him.” Chuck took a sip, puckered at the taste of break room sludge, and nodded. “Continue.”

“Well, seeing your love puppy a little down in the dumps, I mentioned that my cousin-in-law on my mother’s side might be able to help him with a costume.”

“I don’t get it.”

“The size conundrum?” Brushing off Chuck’s blank look, Morgan pushed the ancient computer off to the side, withholding a shiver. His face turned red. That’s how bad he was at holding back secrets, but he managed to keep it in. “Anyway, we arranged the drop last night –”

“The drop?”

“Oh, sorry. Spy talk. You know, the hand-off. Casey and I. In the men’s room.”

“Oh, God,” Chuck said, imagining the rendezvous next to a urinal. “He is desperate.”

“And he tried it on.” Morgan clasped his hands together, legs swinging with excitement. “And he took it home with him!”

“Did he say anything?”

“Nah.” Morgan helped himself to some pretzels on Chuck’s desk. “But, hey, he didn’t say anything. See? I’m starting to get the hang of him.”

“Uh-huh,” Chuck said, recognizing Morgan’s baby step. “So ... it’s good?”

“Man! I can’t wait for you to see him!”

“Huh. I can’t believe Casey is going to wear a ‘Morgan suggestion.’ Not that I think he’s warming up to you, but you survived, right? No swirly as he was leaving?”

“Laugh now, my friend,” Morgan said, “but you will be thanking me the morning after.” He checked over his shoulder to make sure Casey hadn’t sneaked into the back storage room. “I mean, your He-Toy isn’t exactly my type, but I have to admit he’s a handsome man, and in this costume? Wow. That’s all I can say, dude. W-O-W.”

“Call me intrigued.” Chuck smiled and scooted his desk chair back to the desk, focusing his attention on the dissected computer spread out in front of him. “But small technological devices are calling. I should get back to it.”

“Hang on.” Morgan stayed perched on his desk. “How about you? Any luck? Casey’s request? Well, let’s just say it. The ... asshole costume?”

“Believe it or not, I know what to do,” Chuck said, leaning back in his chair and lacing his hands behind his head, his dark eyes dancing with a secret. “I guess I’ll give him what he wants.”

“Look at you, man,” Morgan said, punching his arm. “All right, don’t make me pull the best friend card again. Spill, or I’ll –”

“Oh, my, what was that I heard?” came a voice from behind a stack of boxes. Lester emerged with Jeff on his heels. “Did Iron Man give you an order, Charles?”

Chuck dropped his pen and swiveled in his chair quickly. Too quickly. He nearly sent himself spinning to the floor. “Is nothing sacred around here? I’m in the middle of work here, a concept you should become more familiar with. Out, all of you.”

“Yeah, my man needs solitude,” Morgan added, proving he missed the point completely.

“Nuh-uh-uh,” Lester drawled, pushing the cage’s gate open and strolling inside. “Not so fast. What is this ‘asshole’ costume your big pookie bear has requested?”

“Sounds sexual,” Jeff droned, proving carbon monoxide had telekinetic powers when entrenched in the brain.

Lester put a hand on Jeff’s chest and arched a brow at Chuck. “Knowing the big Casanova, I’m sure it is, but what I really want to know is this.” The short man raised his pointer finger in the air. “Why did Mr. Cuddles give you such an easy assignment?”

Breathe. Chuck reminded himself they were trying to yank his leash. Over-reacting would be like gas on the fire. “First, be thankful he’s not in earshot, and second – easy?”

“If Chuck wants an asshole costume, he only needs to look on the other side of the closet.” Jeff gave a creepy one-eyed wink. “I mean that literally. Not in the figurative way.” Another wink.

“Jeffrey!” Lester turned to him, bristling. “Why did you give it away –”

“Say what?” Chuck asked, looking up quickly. “You guys think Casey ... is one of those?” Technically, his best friend would’ve told him this bit of news right? He swiveled in the chair to face Morgan. “Is that what they’re saying?”

“Hoo boy.” Morgan looked away and began scratching the back of his head, fidgeting uncomfortably. “Come on, guys. Chuck’s right. Let’s give him some space to get these work orders –”

The door to the back storage room swung open with brute force, making the wall behind it rock with impact. “You. Moron,” Casey bit out, striding into the cage. “Figures you’d be hiding back here.”

The other men jolted, though Chuck liked to think he had become immune to Casey’s prowling and sudden pounces. Guess not, since his back had hit the chair. He wondered which one of them Casey was addressing, but based upon his trajectory and steely eye contact, Chuck saw immediately that it was Jeff Barnes in his sights this time.

“You parked your weed-billowing, hippie van over the line. Too close to my car,” the larger man went on. “One wide swing of that rusted-out door, and my car’s got a door ding as long as my arm.” A piece of paper was slapped to Jeff’s chest. “Parking lot security agreed with me. Here are a hundred and twenty-five reasons you should keep that four-wheeled dumpster in its own damn lot.”

“A ticket?” Jeff peeled it off his shirt and blinked down at it. “I can’t afford this!”

“And you two imbeciles,” Casey said, pivoting around to loom over Morgan and Lester. “Big Mike wants you up front and center in the store. Pronto.”

“What?” Morgan sprang to his feet, instantly on high alert. “Why does he need us?”

Casey eyed the two with disdain before shrugging. “Seems some hot shots from corporate are in the store today. Auditing us. Something about global diversity and inclusion in the workforce.” The last pronouncement came out with a bit of a sneer, Chuck noted. “So Big Mike wants to parade the two of you out there. Get a checkmark in the Latino and,” he paused to give Lester a skeptical perusal, “whatever you are boxes.”

Lester’s jaw dropped. “I’m Canadian, for crying out loud! We’re a people of peace!”

Casey grunted his opinion of the northern socialists. “Just try to smile and stay away from the small electronics aisle,” he told Lester. “Don’t want a reason to for the NCC to put you on the Terrorist Watch List.”

The nerds then found themselves man-handled out of the storage room by appendages they didn’t know were handles until Casey got a hold of them. The last thing Chuck saw before the heavy door slammed in their indignant faces was a ‘does that answer your question?’ look from Morgan.

Chuck tilted his head at the door, replaying that. Maybe he had missed some of the hallway or break room conversations on the topic of his boyfriend’s brusqueness.

The thought of his lover made him blink over at him. Obviously pleased with evicting the other men so efficiently, Casey sauntered over to Chuck’s desk chair and nudged his knees apart to stand between them.

“Got you something for lunch,” he said, smug look firmly in place.

Chuck’s brow furrowed. “Hey, we talked about – oh, what’s that?” He pushed away the embarrassing thoughts by motioning towards the brown bag in Casey’s hand. A few grease spots had soaked through the sack, and the scent of onions and peppers made him begin to salivate. “Oh, God ....” The kid breathed in and closed his eyes. “Tell me that’s what I think it is.”

“Pastrami on marbled rye, provolone, pickles, pepper relish and Thousand Island dressing – light, not profuse – and a side of coleslaw. Vinegar, not mayo.” Casey waggled the bag in front of his face. “Figured with you trapped in the Nerd Cave this afternoon, you’d forget to eat.”

“I think you finally memorized that,” Chuck said, flashing the high-beam as he swiped the bag from his partner. “Maybe it’s time for me to switch up my favorite sandwich.” But realizing that that wasn’t much of a thank you, Chuck stood, looked in both directions, and kissed him on the lips. “Thanks, big guy. I would say I owe you one, but that only gets me in trouble.”

Casey grunted, the one that said he was in trouble anyway and began to leave. When he got to the door, he turned, kept his expression perfectly bland. “Chuck?”

“Whaff?” Chuck asked, chewing around a mouthful. It was rude, he knew, but he had lost track of time and Casey was right. He was starving.

“You might wanna get rid of that just-fed look before you come back out here,” Casey said, giving him the once-over. “Don’t want these idiots thinking you gave a head job for your provolone, eh?”

Chuck started to splutter, but it was too late. Casey had already shot him a smirk and closed the door behind him.

After he’d left, the kid continued to glare at the exit for another second or two, concluding his fellow nerds were almost correct. John Casey was a complicated man. A formula of three parts asshole, one part lovable. And as Chuck chewed thoughtfully on the sandwich, he was thankful for getting the right part.

The question was, now could he get the not-so-nice part right by Halloween?

-x-End Just This Once Part One-x-


	2. Part Two

Just This Once

(Part Two)

A Halloween Tale in Four Easy Bites

-x-

 

“Oh, man,” Morgan said happily. “Are you gonna love this!” Even with his pointed ears attached to a wig, they bobbed crazily as the little man took the stairs down two at a time. “And the best news. No needle and thread necessary.”

“It fit?”

“The places he tore aren’t even noticeable, dude.”

Chuck cocked his head to the side, trying to banish the images of how Morgan would know that. “Is he mad?”

“Why would he be mad?”

“Well, for one, he’s John Casey,” Chuck said, pausing to sneak a strawberry Twizzler from the cauldron-shaped candy bowl on their coffee table. “And until a minute ago, he was hiding upstairs with you, getting dressed in a borrowed costume –”

“Hey, your hot taquito insisted on one requirement.” Morgan put up his hand at Chuck’s confused look. “Dry cleaners all the way, bro.”

“So you’re saying he’s not irked at partaking in a holiday where pagan children dress up as the dead, cause havoc in the streets, and the worse part –”

“Soap windows of an intense bastard who drives over their bikes when they park in his space?”

Chuck frowned. “No, not quite. They knock on doors expecting free hand-outs.”

“So that’s what he meant when he grumbled something about democrats.” Morgan began digging around in the bowl, finally pulling back with a peanut butter cup. “I got the pagan part, but the reference to blood-sucking liberals eluded me.”

“Hey, you might want to stop eating those. If we run out, we’ll have to hand out pennies – and then here comes the soap.”

“You live with Casey, dude. You’ll already be cleaning windows.”

“Were you just joking about the bike thing?” Chuck asked, wary.

“You should see what he did to my Schwinn, man.”

“Oh. Sorry about that.”

“That’s okay,” Morgan told Chuck. “It’s only happened twice since he hooked up with you.”

“That’s ... a move in the right direction. I guess?” Chuck took another bite off the string of licorice, letting the rest hang from his mouth while he adjusted his hat. “So what do you think? Is the costume okay?”

Morgan looked over at him, taking an eternity to find an answer, and finally just huffed. “You look ... fine. Good, really,” he said and crinkled up the candy wrapper. “I’m sure Casey will be okay with it. Hey, it’s you, right? He loves you, therefore, he will love whatever you decide to wear. Even if it’s – well.” Morgan gestured listlessly up and down Chuck’s costume. “Going against his wishes.”

Chuck looked down and held out his arms, chewing slowly. “What’s wrong with this?”

“You’re not serious?” Morgan asked, shaking his head. “Okay, here we go. Weren’t you the one who told me what Your Hotness wanted this Halloween?”

“Shh!” Chuck motioned at the stairs. “If he hears that, he’ll string us up in the cage and leave us there overnight!”

“Keep shouting then,” Morgan said, being the calm one for once. “Let’s hope he doesn’t lock up a pair of hungry Rottweilers with us.”

“I was joking. You get that, right?”

“Well, I wasn’t.” Morgan steered him to sit down on the arm of Casey’s La-Z-Boy. “Let me explain this to you,” he said. “When Casey asked you to be something you’re not, I don’t think he meant for you to dress up like this. In fact, the big guy may argue, you dressed up symbolically as the one thing you are –”

“Who? Me?”

Noticing the change in his friend’s expression, Morgan’s eyebrows slowly drew down. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing.” Chuck put on an innocent look, shifted off the arm of the chair, and landed in Casey’s seat. Deciding to get comfortable, he stretched his green tight-clad hairy legs out in front of him. “This might just be ... a diversion, that’s all.”

“A diversion – you sneak!”

“Who? Me?” He piled on more aghast innocence. Then he shot him a grin.

“Wait,” Morgan said incredulously, lowering his voice. “You have a plan? And you didn’t share it with me?”

“Do I look suicidal?” Chuck said, glancing to the side to make sure his partner was still upstairs. “Casey has threatened my – well, never mind – if I share ... uh, certain things, and this unquestionably falls into that category.”

“Dude! That’s a cop-out if I’ve ever heard one.”

“And he’s not exactly the kind of person to make offhand threats without the follow through.” Chuck shrugged. “Sorry, buddy, but if I have a choice of which one of you will be mad at me, well ....”

“Oh, sure I get it.” Morgan fiddled with a loose string on his velvet-trimmed vest. “You have to go with the one who butters your bread. No need to explain.”

Chuck searched for the right words to placate his other life mate. “Morgan, if it means anything to you, you did help me.” He offered up another peanut butter cup. “And isn’t that the only reason you would want to know? To help your best friend?”

Morgan eventually took the chocolate. “Go on. I’m listening.”

“Okay. This costume clearly violates Casey’s request on about ten levels, wouldn’t you say?”

“Uh-huh.” Morgan eyeballed the red feather standing up from Chuck’s pointed hat. “Spectacular failure, head to toe.”

“True,” Chuck said, retying the end of a rope that made up his belt. “The way you helped me was the look on your face when you saw the costume.”

“Really. How?”

“Well, I think it started with utter confusion.”

“And why not? Look at you, man!”

“That was replaced by a brief flash of recognition,” Chuck went on, using the recliner’s handle to put his pointy-toed feet in the air. “Then you moved on to – well, it looked like annoyance as to why I would’ve chosen this costume.”

“Again, in my defense, you did violate every freaking aspect of your beefy burrito’s request.”

Chuck quickly checked the stairs again. “Consider yourself lucky, because if he hears you, Frodo will be wearing that ring through his nose ... or other places it wasn’t meant to be.”

Morgan gave him a look – like you would let that happen to your best bud – before wisely dropping it. “I still don’t see how I helped you, man. Because, that?” He motioned at the too-short forest green tunic that only made it to Chuck’s upper thighs. “I mean, really. Wow. I want no part of something that Casey will see as a complete catastrophe.”

“Ah, my puzzled little hobbit, but that’s where you’re wrong,” Chuck said, his voice mimicking Mr. Miyagi before he popped the rest of the licorice in his mouth. “The last look on your face was the confirmation I needed. That I picked the perfect costume to completely baffle the unshakable John Casey.” He gave his pal an evil variation of his usually good-natured grin. “Gotcha.”

“So you’re tricking him?” A few seconds later, the obvious pun occurred to Morgan. “And later comes the treat?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively at his friend. “Ah. Nice.”

“Stop there,” Chuck said, holding up a hand to stress his point. “That’s where we draw the line, little buddy. We’re grownups. Sharing bread buttering techniques would just be ... weird.”

“That’s funny. That’s exactly what I used to tell Anna.”

“Anna?” While he spoke, Chuck adjusted his green tights at the knees. Boy, even the extra tall were too short.

“Sure,” Morgan said nonchalantly. He sat down on the coffee table and put his hands on his knees. “She used to ask about the two of you all the time. Wanted ... details, you know?”

Chuck wrinkled his nose. “You never said a word, I hope?”

“You know what was creepier, dude? Jeff.”

“Nerd Herder Jeff?”

“Who else? He wanted to know, too.” Suddenly, Morgan began pawing through the candy. “So do you think Casey has any idea this is happening?”

“Not a chance,” Chuck replied, still shaking his head to rid it of the creepy image. But even that worry wasn’t going to upset his mojo tonight. “It’ll make the surprise at the end of the night so much sweeter.” He took a moment to puff up with self-satisfaction. “And that, my friend, is how I roll.”

“Buddy, you have to tell me –”

“Chuck?” A knock on the door of Casey’s apartment – or Casa Caseski, a name the big guy had not quite warmed up to – made both of them turn. “Um, John?” It was the unmistakable voice of Ellie Bartowski, sounding soft and uncertain. “Are the two of you ... decent?”

“Oh God,” Chuck muttered, pressing his fingers to his eyelids for a moment to collect himself. “Please tell me Ellie didn’t just say that.”

Morgan let out a laugh and punched his arm. “You dogs, you! Don’t tell me your Prince Snuggles talked you into some action on his gi-normous comfy sofa – and your sister walked in on you?! Man, that would be a bit awkward, don’t ya think?”

“Uh, it was.” Chuck scrambled to lower the footrest, nearly stumbling over his brown felt slippers as he climbed to his feet. “And no, that’s all you get. It was humiliating enough the first time. I never want to relive it.”

“Open the door, Uncle Chuck!” came another excited little voice. “Trick-or-treat!”

Perfect timing. If there was one person – tiny and headstrong as she may be – whose presence could get Morgan not to probe about the ‘Always lock the fucking door from here on out, got that, Bartowski? Incident’, she was standing impatiently outside their front door.

Beaming a natural grin, Chuck swung the door open and braced himself for a curly-headed, over three foot tall eruption. “Boo!”

“Uncle Chuck, you’re not scary!” Clara called out, wrapping her arms around Chuck’s legs for her hug. “Do you know who I am for Halloween!?”

“Besides my wittle widget?” he replied, scooping her up in an armload of rustling blue satin and a plastic pumpkin bucket. He rested her on his hip and studied her, pretending to be at a loss though Ellie had told him a week ago the costume his niece had chosen. “Are you a cat?”

“No!”

“Superman?”

“No, that’s daddy! And Uncle Casey!”

Chuck bit down on his lip to repress the laugh threatening to break out. “A wicked witch?”

“That’s mommy!” Clara insisted, touching his hat.

“Um, widget,” Chuck started cautiously, “it’s not nice to – oh.” When Ellie came out of the shadows of the courtyard, the kid was relieved to find that his big sister was indeed a witch tonight. A sexy, glamorous witch in black netting and silk, a top that bared her shoulders, and a skirt that climbed well above her knees.

Not to mention her patent leather boots tall on the thigh with three inch heels, helping her tower over a much shorter, gawking man.

“Wow,” Morgan said, stepping around Chuck to face her. “Ellie ... you look ... amazing.”

“Thanks ... Morgan,” Ellie said, smiling a little stiffly. She twisted around to look at her brother and flared her eyes for a second, giving him a ‘control your friend’ look. When Chuck got the message, she lowered her eyes to the bearded man. “Uh, cute elf, by the way.”

So taken in by the appearance of his lifelong secret crush, the shorter man forgot to be offended by that. Or he didn’t hear her, if the blank look on his face was any indication.

“Um, Morgan?” Chuck said hastily, moving around him to slip his lanky body between his sister and his gobsmacked friend. “Look at me.” Forcing Morgan to break his focus, the smaller man turned his attention up to Chuck, blinking. “Jaw,” Chuck mouthed at him, and he put his forefinger under his buddy’s hinged cake eater and pushed, helping him snap it shut.

“Thanks, bro.” Morgan blinked again and his eyes landed on Clara. “There’s my girl!” he said, holding out his arms. “Where’s my hug?”

“Where’s my Uncle Casey?” Clara asked, and she began squirming like a little worm in Chuck’s arms. “Put me down, Uncle Chuck. I want to find him!”

“Clara, honey,” Ellie started, suddenly looking troubled. “What about your other uncle? Tell Uncle Chuck who are you are tonight.”

“But where is he?” As her head swiveled around, her dark curls bobbed, her blue eyes searched the apartment. “I want him. He’s here, isn’t he?”

When Chuck looked up, he saw Devon, who had come in behind his sister, cringe at the brutal honesty only a three year old could get away with. “Listen, bro,” Awesome began, ready to smooth things out. “She doesn’t know –”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chuck said, dropping a kiss on Clara’s head, “but If you think I’m offended by the fact she’s rather fond of Casey, then you couldn’t be further from the truth.”

“Honey, she loves you too,” Ellie said, giving a pained smile. She flicked a look to the side. “Even ... Morgan.”

“El, listen to me.” Chuck set Clara down and held up a hand to ward off the guilt. “My niece, who I adore down to her little pink toenails, happens to love my boyfriend more than the sun and moon. And it just so happens that I feel the same way about both of them, so please tell me what’s wrong with this scenario?”

“He spoils her rotten,” Ellie said, and sighed.

“Well,” Chuck began hesitantly, because spoiled was an understatement.

“Babe, that’s what uncles are for.” Devon reached over and gave both Chuck and Morgan a high five. “Kids need someone to let them stay up past bedtime when they stay over. Eat ice cream in bed. Watch movies for hours. It’s all part of growing up.”

“See, El?” Chuck flashed the grin that almost always worked on her. “Morgan and I are okay with our place in the pecking order. Right, buddy?”

“Sure. Um, awesome costume ... Devon,” Morgan said. “Hey, look. It’s Captain America.” Turning his head, he hissed in Chuck’s ear, “Like we need the reminder?”

“You haven’t guessed who I am!” Clara yelped, bouncing up and down. “Should I give you a hint?”

Devon winced. “No, honey, that’s okay –”

“Wet it go! Wet it go!” she sang-shouted. “Can’t hold it back anymo –”

“Um, Clara,” the Captain broke in. “Let’s see if we can find Uncle Casey. Maybe you can cut out some teeth in his pumpkin, honey.”

“Divert with favorite uncle ploy. Nice.” Chuck laughed. “Heard that a few times, I take it?”

“Enough to want to scrape my eardrums out with a rusty scalpel, that’s all.”

“It’s not that bad,” Ellie told him and turned to her brother. “And he’s not her favorite uncle. She loves you both.”

“Please.” Chuck pointed a smile at her. “She’d run me over with her Big Wheel to get to him first. Leave my body as a long speed bump in the parking lot for the crows to pick over.”

Ellie let that go with a playful punch to his arm. “Where is he, any – oh.”

Chuck kept his gaze on his sister, waiting for her to get the question out. It became evident she was not going to do that any time soon. Not with her eyes glued to the staircase.

“Hey, what is it?” Chuck tilted his head, and then out of curiosity, followed her line of sight to the stairs. “Is there – oh. What ....” He felt his mouth hinge open embarrassingly.

He’d worry about that later. Who was looking at him, anyway?

“Uncle Casey!” Clara dropped her plastic pumpkin and scurried towards the stairs, her dress swishing along her ankles. “What – what are you supposed to be?”

Standing there, tall and straight-bodied on the stairs, Casey only glimpsed at the adults before focusing on Clara. He continued taking the steps, and when his black leather boot hit the bottom stair, he squinted down at her. “Princess Elsa,” the man said reverently, and swept a bow of impeccable grace. “My Snow Queen.”

Maybe if Chuck’s brain wasn’t stuttering in first gear, he’d ask Casey how the hell he even knew that.

Chuck and Ellie both stared, though Chuck knew he should say something about Casey’s costume. It’s nice. You look ... great. 

God, how could he be more lame? None of those came close.

On a side note, Morgan had officially cemented himself as the best friend in the world for uniting Casey with a kilt, blue and black tartan with thin red stripes, the pleated wool ending slightly above the knee. His slender yet powerful calves were only partially covered by the low boots and wool stockings, giving Chuck a bit more to stare at.

Whoa. Why he had never thought of putting his man in rugged short boots that showed off a mile of legs was a mystery for the ages.

Despite the fact he was getting in the way, Morgan slid between the Bartowski siblings with his back to Casey. “Jaws,” he mouthed to them and used his forefingers to politely snap them shut in unison.

Ellie glimpsed over at her brother, her cheeks slightly pink. “Uh, Casey makes a very handsome Highlander ... don’t you think, Chuck?” She fully turned to her brother and arched a brow. “Sweetie? You should say something.” Doctor voice. “Now, please, so that I know you’re breathing.”

Chuck shook off the spell. “Uh, wow.” He held up a hand to keep his sister at bay. “Morgan, I don’t know how you did this,” he said out the side of his mouth, “but I owe you a million or so lunches at Sbarro.”

“Awesome, El! Did you see Casey’s costume? Just like that book you fantasize about, huh, babe?”

Ellie turned and shot her husband the shut up look.

“Up!” Clara yelled. She squealed as Casey lifted her high in the air before pretending to drop her. “Do it again!”

“Oh, John? Maybe not so – rough?” Ellie took Chuck’s arm, watching them with a mother’s eye. “He’s not going to drop her, is he?”

Chuck had to think quickly. Something told him that she wouldn’t be dazzled by Casey’s catching abilities if she heard the story of her little brother being tossed off the side of a building by a Fulcrum goon. Yep, and it even had the mushy factor of the first time he told Casey he loved him. Still, she wouldn’t see it that way.

So he just gave her a reassuring smile. “He’ll always catch her when she falls, sis.” Watching his boyfriend in mid-toss of a tiny princess, he added, “Cheesy, now that I’ve said it aloud.”

“He’s a sweet uncle,” Ellie said, smiling as she nudged her brother. “You picked a good one. Aces, Charles.”

“Dude! I told you, right?” Morgan’s hobbit hat bounced as he nodded excitedly at Casey. “I take it your honey bu – er, Casey has earned your lofty seal of approval?”

“Close, but he didn’t hear you,” Chuck remarked after a long moment, trying to decide what part of Casey’s costume he would take first. The kilt was sexy as hell, but he’d love to see what was under that –

“It’s a sporran,” Morgan said.

Chuck spun so fast he nearly tripped. “Wh-what?”

“I saw that it caught your eye,” Morgan explained matter-of-fact. “The traditional leather pouch, sometimes made of badger-skin, or otter’s.”

“Oh,” Chuck said faintly.

“Well, it’s not like kilts have pockets, man.”

“Um ... sure, Morgan, I was wondering about that.” Or holy God, just like in the movies, right? Fist the shirt and pull him in. Stripping the pure white cotton, dragging the full sleeves down his arms, unfasten antique buttons on a rounded collar, cut by a deep V –

“It’s my cousin’s. Can you believe he’s the same size as your can of Grade A Spam?”

Chuck coughed, realizing Morgan had been speaking. “Your ... cousin?”

“Sure, I told you.” The smaller man paused to watch Casey from across the room as he settled Clara on his hip. “Vinnie. He’s a vocalist for the Saggy Bagpipes. They play at the Goat and Compasses all the time. Hey, you and Casey should come down sometime.”

“I didn’t realize Bagpipe bands had vocalists,” Chuck said, smoothing a hand down his tunic, “or ... that bagpipe bands played in Cudahy. Hey, sweetie.” He spoke cheerfully to Casey, hoping to hide the blush now that his Scottish warrior stood next to him. “You look ... wow. Just ... really ... g-good.”

Casey cocked an eyebrow at Clara. “And this is the genius that went to Stanford, eh?”

“Uncle Casey’s a prince, isn’t he, Chuck?” Clara asked. “Is zat why you’re staring?”

“Um, I’m not ....” The kid licked his lips, which felt chapped and dry since his Casey showed up with a strategically placed kilt pin.

“Here, I’ll take her,” Ellie said, intervening. “Let’s get your braid on and we’ll start trick or treating.”

“Blonde braid!” Clara corrected, but she let her mother take her, leaving Chuck to enjoy Casey in a skirt all he wanted. They were finally alone.

Well, except for Morgan, still gloating over the costume success story. “Man, I outdid myself this year. Look at him. Good thing your – er, Casey has shoulders the width of a super hauler, because Vinnie used to wrestle for the Michinoku Pro league. I know, not as famous as your WWE, Ring of Honor, or even Wresticious, but –”

“Um, Morgan, I think Frodo lost a brass button from his vest. In the, uh, kitchen.”

“Button?” Morgan broke it off there to check the velvet for loose thread. “No, I think they’re – ah. Got it.” He elbowed Casey, accidentally hitting awfully close to the sporran. “I’ll let you two love birds enjoy each other’s costumes in peace for a moment.”

As Morgan slipped into the kitchen, he turned to give Chuck a grin and thumbs up.

“Yeah, nice costume,” Casey said, not looking at Chuck. “You and the moron haven’t been eating all the candy, have you?”

Chuck’s eyes widened. He had expected confused, bewildered, quietly displeased, heck, any of those from his boyfriend. But not Major Irritation to show up. “Nope, not one,” he said, his voice less cheerful.

Casey rolled his eyes and started to walk away.

“Wait, you,” the kid said awkwardly since his brain was still skipping gears. Then hesitating, he leaned over and kissed his boyfriend.

Casey tasted suspiciously like an Almond Joy, but Chuck kept it to himself.

“Apology kiss, Bartowski?” Casey asked softly when the kid pulled back. His dour look made Chuck wonder if he should’ve gone with less green and hose to start the night. But throwing him off his game was what he wanted, right?

“I – um, if that was an apology, it was only because I couldn’t put it in the right words a minute ago, sweetie, but you do look ...” Chuck’s gaze drifted over the white shirt stretched between his square shoulders, the blue tartan sash draped across his chest ... then roamed down to his bare legs. “Like someone I want to hook up with later tonight.”

“Sorry, I charge extra for that.” Casey gave him one bland glance and crossed over to the table, scooping up a file folder. “Ellie,” he said, turning his attention to her, “I’ve taken the liberty of identifying homes in the no-fly-zone.”

“No-fly-zone?” Ellie looked down, baffled at the pieces of paper Casey was handing out to the adults. “What does that mean ... exactly?”

“El, I think this is John’s way of letting us know the apartments we’ll be avoiding tonight.” Chuck sidled up to him and put a hand on his boyfriend’s arm, whispered to him, “Remember, Casey. We had the talk. Halloween. Not Kabul.”

It was deliberate and purposeful when Casey stepped out of Chuck’s reach, completely ignoring him. “Everyone has their own copy. Don’t lose it,” he said specifically to Morgan, slapping it into his velvet vest.

“Wait.” Devon skimmed the paper and raised a questioning brow. “Mr. Hoffmiester in 203? He’s such a nice guy. Why are we avoiding him?”

“Nice, eh?” Casey peeked down at Clara before stepping in front of the Captain. Out of her earshot, he said, “Would it be nice if my niece gets an eyeful of the p-o-r-n he’s streaming, forty-eight inch, HD?”

“Indeed, not awesome,” Devon agreed, eyeing the list nervously now. “No to 203.”

Casey nodded. “I’ve included addresses of all our usual local subversives, agitators, dissidents, and your troublemakers.”

Ellie gave a puzzled look. “John, where do you get all this information?”

“Um, it’s all on the internet, sis,” Chuck stammered, sweat beginning to spring up under his shirt.

“Oh. 288?” she asked.

Casey snorted. “You think Clara wants to collect flyers for the Progressive Labor Party tonight?”

“Uncle Casey! Can we go now!”

“Just a minute, My Lady,” Casey said, patting her on the head. “The adults need some supervision.”

“Oh, boy.” Chuck grabbed a handful of Casey’s shirt to control him before he was hit with how futile that would be. “Nice use of the NSA database,” he hissed in his ear instead.

“Can’t rely on the Intersect, now, can I?” Casey whispered in a dark undertone.

Chuck frowned and folded his arms over his baggy tunic. “Can we go now?” he said, louder this time.

“Yeah, keep dreaming, Bartowski,” Casey replied, his kilt swishing as he moved away. “We still have the fanatical environmentalists –”

“Just because the Clark’s recycle Styrofoam and cans?” Chuck broke in.

“– the social democrats and left-libertarians to cover. Too bad these morons don’t come with warning labels, eh, Clara?”

“Mr. Burgman?” Awesome looked up. “I don’t get it.”

“Sure, you don’t,” Casey said, placing a protective hand in front of Clara. “And I’m sure you’d ... let your daughter walk into a home where the Communist Manifesto is lying around on the coffee table. Yeah. Walk right into a trap.”

“Mr. Burgman,” Morgan piped up. “Hey, I had him for eleventh grade history!”

“That would explain a lot,” Casey replied.

“Yes, it would,” Chuck said, holding up a hand. “He taught political science, big guy. Ease up on the Inquisition, okay?

Casey grunted, vaguely translated to not buying it, girlfriend.

“109?” Ellie gasped and placed her hand at her throat. “Not Mrs. Fennick!”

“Who’s Mrs. Fennick?” Morgan asked.

“She’s babysat for Clara before. When I was on call and Devon had an emergency cardio angioplasty.”

“I like her! She’s nice! Can we go there, Uncle Casey?”

“Sorry, princess.”

Ellie had to blink at that. “But why?”

Squaring his shoulders, the Highland warrior strolled over to the window, lifted the curtain to take a peek. “Wouldn’t it be just great to have my sweet Clara say trick-or-treat – and have Mrs. Fennick’s orange tabby latch onto her little jugular vein like a crazed mountain lion.”

“Why in the world would Mr. Pickles attack her?!”

“Yeah, why?” Chuck asked, brows flying up under the wayward curls sticking out from under his cap.

“I saw the feline in question get loose a few days ago ... wandering under the covered parking where he chased a squirrel.”

“So?” Devon shrugged. “What’s the big deal?”

“Oh, nothing, I’m sure,” Casey said as he pinned Awesome back with just his eyes. “Rabid tiny creatures, aren’t they? Prone to hallucinations. Aggressiveness.”

“Well, they can be infected,” Devon conceded, “but it rarely –”

“Rarely. Heh.” Casey flicked Devon’s paper. “Might as well give Clara an AK47 and let her go play Russian roulette in the street, eh?”

Chuck looked between the two men, feeling some nervousness in his stomach. Obviously, the Captain did not like having his Awesome parenting skills questioned by a man who only raised miniature bonsai.

“Uh, guys,” Chuck said, “speaking of the little gun-toting princess, I think she’s getting restless. Can we get going?”

“Let’s go!” Clara yelped. “I wanna go trick-or-treating!”

When the tiny bundle of energy dashed for the door, her mother went right after her, high heels clacking. “Honey, you need your pumpkin, right? What will you put your candy in?”

“My mouf?”

“Give me your hand,” Ellie said with a laugh and turned to the others. “We should go.”

“Finally!” Morgan clapped his hands together, bouncing on his hobbit feet. “Who gets round one, and who’s staying back to pass out candy?”

“No need to fret.” Chuck squinted and held up the piece of paper. “Casey kindly went ahead and outlined a schedule for us. It’s, ah, on the flip side of the Subversives sheet.”

“Oh?” Ellie snatched it from his hand to read it. “Here. Everyone gets a rotation of handing out candy at one of our apartments and then taking Clara around to trick-or-treat.” A curious look passed over her face. “John, what branch of the military did you say you were in?”

“Not important,” Chuck said, completely honest. “Your munchkin is going to implode if we don’t get moving.”

“Oh, man!” Morgan shook his head in disappointment at Casey’s schedule. “I have candy duty first.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Chuck said glumly, and he watched the Woodcomb family shuffle out the front door. “It appears Uncle Chuck is on the sidelines, too.” Grateful that he would have a turn at trick-or-treating in one hour and six minutes from now, Chuck sighed. “I better get over to Ellie’s before the monsters show up at the door.”

“Let’s roll,” Casey said, nodding towards the courtyard. “Princess is on the move.”

-x-

An hour and fifteen minutes later, Chuck was in the courtyard. He couldn’t keep an eye on both Casey and Clara, so being a good uncle, he watched his niece as she rang the doorbell of 104. After being freed from candy duty ten minutes ago, he’d hate to screw it up by sending her to the communists. Once he saw it was only Mrs. Vernon, he used the break in action to enjoy the view of Casey’s backside and legs. “Have I told you that you look really ... really good?”

“The drool tipped me off.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“What would make you think that?” Casey asked without bothering to turn to him.

“Well, the lack of eye contact, the deaf ear to everything I’ve said tonight, and the growls were a clue.” Chuck stepped in front of Casey to make him look. “Put it all together, and it kind of tipped me off.”

“Look who’s the super spy now,” Casey said, avoiding his eyes by looking over Chuck’s shoulder. “You do realize that you’ve put yourself in the direct line of sight between me and Eagle One.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to get in the way of national security.” Chuck stepped out of the way of a pack of kids. “You do realize she’s capable of standing next to the door without getting injured or kidnapped, don’t you?”

“That’ll be on your wimpy shoulders, Uncle Chuck, if it happens.” Casey tucked his thumbs in the kilt, rising a bit taller as he peered over the crowd of children. “But trust me, it’s not happening under my watch.”

“Wow,” Chuck said as he tried to infuse some humor in the situation. “Even wearing a skirt, you’re the scariest man I know.”

He hoped Casey would realize he was being ridiculous. Naturally, he didn’t. Instead, his lover snubbed him with swift and ruthless functionality, and muscled one of the dads out of the way to get closer to Clara. Bending down, he gently reminded her that even royalty had to be polite.

“Thank you!” Clara exclaimed, and Chuck immediately saw his boyfriend puff up like a peacock. “Can we go back now? I want to show Mommy my candy.”

Chuck held up the slip of paper, reminding himself to keep his sarcasm in check. “Well, as luck would have it, widget, this was the last approved stop according to Uncle Casey’s detailed map, so we can head home.”

Casey lifted his head and turned, giving Chuck a look that said that not only had the sarcasm been noted, it was being catalogued for later use. “D-A-M-N good thing, too, since we managed without any of the usual ... nerd mishaps.” He looked down at Clara and smiled, motioned past the fountain and towards the apartment. “Lead the way, princess.”

Chuck rolled his eyes, discreetly pulled at the waistband of his panty-hose, and followed them.

Clara burst through the door, holding up her pumpkin full of candy. Now that she was safely inside, Chuck took his boyfriend’s arm and held him back. “Hang on, Casey. We need to talk.”

“Not in the mood,” Casey answered, pulling his arm free.

“Did you just admit to having feelings?” Chuck flicked the wheedling puppy eyes. When Casey’s face remained unchanged, he sighed and pulled him over to the fountain. “I think before we go in there, we need to ... well, clear the air a little. Between ... us. You and me, big guy.”

They did need to talk, but Casey had that look on his face, the stubborn one Chuck recognized all too well. It didn’t help when he crossed his huge arms over his chest, spine ram-rod straight. This pose was a source of Chuck’s worry, because he was about to get the air cleared, all right.

“Was this a joke,” Casey asked, keeping his voice low. “A Muppet?”

“A Muppet? What – the costume.” Chuck looked down at himself and held out his arms. “Does this look like a Muppet to you?”

Casey eyed him up and down and stayed still, letting a few kids scoot around them. Once they had passed, he started to open his mouth, but one more came whizzing by. A tiny Batman running for Ellie’s neighbor tripped over his cape. Candy went flying.

“Oh, hey, little guy,” Chuck said, and he got down on his knees to straighten up the Caped Crusader. “Are you okay? Let me help you with that.” He scrambled after the stray goodies and noticed out of the corner of his eye that Casey lent a hand by keeping the larger kids at bay.

“Thank you,” an older boy said, grabbed his little brother by the shoulder. “Come on, Simon, try not to fall. You’re not supposed to be clumsy when you’re Batman.”

The little boy smiled at Chuck, took his candy-stuffed pillowcase, and ran to catch up with a group of trick-or-treaters.

Chuck rose to his feet and grinned. He had suffered the indignity a few times of tripping over his costume. It was only fair for a clumsy man to jump in and help out.

There was rustling at his side. When Chuck felt something brush his arm, he looked over to see Casey standing next to him. “Another crisis resolved,” he said, his smile fading. “Did you ... want to finish ignoring me, or can we talk?”

Casey, watching the kids head to the door, bit down on the inside of his mouth as he considered the question. “Nah,” he said, finally turning to meet the kid’s eyes. “Never mind. It was stupid, anyway.”

“What was?”

“Our Halloween pact.”

“It was?”

“Yes.” Casey sounded disgusted. Surprisingly, with himself. “Besides, look at you. Can’t be mad at a man who rescues children.”

Chuck amped up the disarming smile, since that seemed to be working. “Even if that man explicitly went against your ... uh, let’s call it a ‘special request’?”

Casey gave him the side eye. “Not entirely, you didn’t.”

“No?” Chuck slanted his head down. Yep, he was still wearing tight tights. “How do you mean?”

“Like I had to be reminded you’re the boy who will never grow up?” Casey’s smirk spread. “When you meet an asshole, what’s your first thought?”

“Hm. You have a point.” Chuck slipped his hand around Casey’s forearm and began walking side by side towards Ellie’s apartment. “So what tipped you off? Peter Pan’s charm? His charisma?”

“Nope. Not even his boxers. Interesting, too, considering they were visible through the tights when he bent down to pick up that kid’s candy.”

“Please tell me you’re teasing.”

“The little yuppie sail boats and nautical flags?” Casey gave him a look that said Halloween just became fun again. “Seems to be way too upper bourgeoisie for your ass, eh, sport?”

“Oh, crap.” Chuck cast his eyes up at the dark night and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ellie bought them, okay?

“Your sister picks out your undies?” Casey covered up his laugh by pivoting around towards Ellie’s front door. “Figures.”

“They were a gift,” Chuck argued before he could stop himself. “Hey, does your princess know you can be a petty, evil, prick when you want to be?”

Casey grunted. “Only when I’m walking on water, Bartowski.”

“Hah.” It would funny if it wasn’t so true.

Before they opened the door, Casey leaned over to kiss Chuck, just a warm and quick apology for being an ass about the costume. “Let’s move it,” he said, looking around before deeming it safe to take a handful of Peter’s ass.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“I said move. She doesn’t like to wait.”

-x-

The first stop Casey made once they entered their apartment was straight to the refrigerator. He snatched two pumpkin Harvest Moon beers, came back into the living room, and offered one up to Chuck.

“Thanks.” Chuck nodded and took it from him in a hurry, swallowing down the jitters. Maybe Casey wouldn’t notice how sweaty his palms were.

Twisting the cap, Casey opened the ice cold bottle and took a long swig. The six pack, tied up in an orange and black ribbon, was Ellie’s Halloween treat for them. Attached was a Clara drawing and a note that said, ‘Greatest uncles on the planet.’ Chuck figured he was gradually moving up the scale, though he’d never push Casey off his pedestal.

Someone had to, though.

“Not bad,” Casey said, swirling the bottle in his fingers. “Guess I have to thank your sister.”

Chuck quickly took a swig and tried to adjust the damn green tights which had crawled into an uncomfortable place. But with Casey right there, he only squirmed a little and left it at that.

And when he lowered his bottle, Casey was staring. “Why are you standing here?” his boyfriend asked, agent-mode kicking in.

“Standing?” Chuck frowned. “This is our apartment, isn’t it?”

This drew a grunt from his boyfriend. “You always sit on the couch and turn on the TV before you take the first drink.”

Damn spy! “So?”

“Tonight, you’re staring at my sporran,” Casey said, suspicious. “And standing. So, I have to ask: what the hell are you doing?”

Okay, this was it. Casey had given him the opening, and if Chuck was going to do this, now would be a good time.

As in now ... right this minute.

Yep. He should do this.

Oh, hell. Every asshole needs a moment of truth.

Chuck lowered his beer and really hoped Casey couldn’t see how hard he was clamping down on the bottle. With his eyes locked on him, he put a hand on the big guy’s shoulder. Taking a deep breath, the kid pushed, not hard, but enough to earn some icy scrutiny.

“Over there,” Chuck said, straightening to his full height, and he brought him nose to nose.

Maybe it was the bewilderment that his boyfriend was shoving him backwards, or the look of resolve, but Casey went backwards. Sure, it was more like letting himself get nudged backwards, but whatever it was, it worked.

As Chuck continued to prod him, he figured this was it. Either Casey would go along with his plan, or he was about to be folded up and stuffed into Peter’s tights. Only that, with a knot around the neck.

“What the hell –”

“Keep moving, stud,” Chuck ordered, letting him know how this was going to be. They crossed the room in a few strides, not stopping until Casey’s back was pressed to the wall next to the door.

“Are you fucking drunk?” Casey asked, looking down at Chuck’s hand on his chest before lifting a brow. “Because I’ve got to tell you, kid, I’ve never seen you ask to be put in a headlock like you’re asking right now.”

“Do you have anything under the kilt, John?” Though his hands might be shaking, Chuck ignored the threat by tipping his head towards it.

Casey rolled his eyes. “You think I’d go trick or treating with your sister and our niece,” he growled, “without boxers?” He paused to squint up at Chuck’s forehead. “Did you knock your head, Bartowski? The Intersect get to be too much for your nerd brain?”

“Okay, before you leave, you’ll be taking them off,” Chuck said, outwardly brash though his heart was hammering. “You won’t need those where you’re going.”

“And where the hell am I going?”

“Here.” Chuck pulled out a slip of paper he had carefully tucked in his tunic, and before Casey could grab it, he slipped it in the waistband of the kilt. Since his hand was touching him, he took his time with that, too, slowly drawing his fingers down Casey’s abdomen. “There’s an address. Be there in an hour. Sit at the bar. Wear what you have on now. Lose the boxers.”

Casey pulled out the slip of paper and cocked a brow at him. “Why am I going to this place, Bartowski?”

Instead of answering, Chuck leaned in and kissed the questioning tightness from his lips. “For once, just do what I say,” he told Casey and made a reach for his keys. “One hour. Don’t argue with me. Or you’ll regret you missed out on tonight.”

-x-End Just This Once Part Two-x-


	3. Part Three

Just This Once 

(Part Three) 

A Halloween Tale in Four Easy Bites 

-x- 

It was sheer dumb luck that there was an empty booth in the back being wiped down by a waiter right as he walked in. While Chuck waited for him to towel it off, he checked the bar that ran along one wall, backed by a huge mirror and bottles on glass shelves. Peering over the crowd, he looked for a tall man who would stick out over the others. 

An uncomfortable relief hit him when there was no sign of John Casey. Relief because he had managed to arrive before his boyfriend. Discomfort because there was a fifty-fifty chance Casey would decide this stunt was idiotic and be a no-show tonight. 

As soon as he had stepped inside, Chuck felt the misgivings begin to eat away at him. Casey really hated an ambush unless he was on the shooting end of it – but more than that, he was probably not on board with the kid giving orders by shoving a mysterious address at him. 

To be honest, chances were that Casey was sitting on the sofa watching Sports Center, sipping the pumpkin beer, and wondering how long it would take for Chuck to realize he was being stood up. He’d chuckle softly to himself when Chuck came through the door with that pout on his face. 

For a second, Chuck considered giving up and leaving. One thing stopped him. The idea that Casey could surprise him and follow a damn directive from his boyfriend for once. 

Nodding at the waiter, Chuck set his phone on the table and tried not to wince when he lowered himself into the booth. The leather seat creaked, making the couple at the next table turn around. So far, it wasn’t his most stealthy act as an Italian magnate in a suit that cost more than a month’s Buy More salary. 

General Beckman would probably call his act of borrowing from Castle’s inventory a misappropriation of government assets. Come to think of it, so would his boyfriend. But hey, the suit had been personally tailored for someone six foot four with girl hips (Casey’s words, not his) and a nonexistent ass. How many people could pull that off? 

He glanced around the bar. About half of the people hanging out at the tables were dressed in costumes. One ‘policeman’ at the bar was doing his best to frisk a vampire. Maybe Halloween night had brought out more patrons than the low-key watering hole usually had on a Thursday evening. 

The kid could only speculate, since he had never been here before at night. Only in the broad daylight, surveying the place from the comfort of a Herder in the parking lot. It occurred to him that a real spy would’ve come inside to case the joint, but now that he was here, he could see it was perfect for what the kid had in mind tonight. 

Another waiter in sailor’s garb took his order and left. Warily, Chuck looked towards the door, hoping Casey wouldn’t pick this second to enter the bar. His boyfriend might take offense to a representative of the US Navy in a Lycra sleeveless shirt and painted-on white pants. 

While the waiter fetched his martini – it sounded asshole-ish anyway – Chuck checked the screen of his cell phone. It had almost been an hour since he had left the apartment. Throughout the entire act of grabbing his keys and wallet, Casey stood there by the door, mostly suspicious but also baffled by the slip of paper Chuck had thrust at him. 

There was no excuse of getting lost or that traffic sucked. One of the reasons Chuck had picked this place was the proximity to home. Not to mention he had the foresight to pilfer Casey’s phone and punch in the address in the navigation app. Sometimes Casey broke things when he got frustrated by tiny devices. 

The only thing that could screw up Casey getting through that door was that he would put two and two together with the name of the establishment. Chuck picked it because he thought the insinuation of violence would be appealing to his boyfriend. 

Luckily, Casey wouldn’t know until he got inside that The Crossed Swords was definitely not a dueling venue. 

Since it was his first time in a gay bar, Chuck thought he should at least check it out until Casey arrived. It looked laid back and unpretentious, and a lot like any other pub in the neighborhood except for the Irish theme that this one seemed to have glommed onto. Heavy wood and brass was everywhere, but the wide bar with leather stools looked like a comfortable place to enjoy a drink. 

The words on the paper told Casey he was to sit there. It was just a matter of waiting to see if he would really show up. 

The kid had been gazing vaguely towards the front entrance, down the bar, but the waiter was suddenly standing at the side of the booth, blocking everything. Chuck looked up, almost startled, but he quickly smoothed his tie and smiled politely up at him. 

“Here you go,” the sailor said, winking at him. “Martini, three olives.” 

“Thanks.” Chuck nodded and took a sip when he realized the man’s eyes were on him. There was no mistaking the open, appreciative perusal of his charcoal grey jacket, crisp white shirt, and deep teal silk tie. “Uh, yes?” 

“Just admiring the suit, hot stuff.” The young man gave a low wolf whistle between his teeth. “Who are you supposed to be?” 

“It’s ... not really a costume.” Chuck ran a hand down his pocket protector until he remembered he wasn’t wearing one. Crap. If he wanted to be a convincing Asshole at Large, he was going to have to amp it up by ten. He relaxed and draped an arm over the back of the seat. “Thanks for the drink, toots. Just go ahead and start a tab for me, will you?” 

The dismissive glance he then gave the costumed waiter wiped the flirty smile off his face. “I – sure,” he said reluctantly. “Would you ... like a menu?” 

Chuck, in the midst of downing his drink, waved him off with a flick of his wrist. 

As the waiter turned, Chuck swore he saw an eye roll just meant for Charles Carmichael. Well, Chuck brightened at the very idea of it. 

Maybe it was possible not to give a rat’s ass what someone else thought about him. 

When the now pissed-off waiter cleared out of the way, Chuck’s gaze traveled down the length of the bar, wondering if – 

– and he nearly coughed up an olive. In the place where the bar curved like a horseshoe towards the front, his eyes caught a wide set of shoulders belonging to a Scottish Highlander. Those shoulders were quite familiar. He liked to think they belonged to him, since he slept with his head in the crook of one of them most nights. 

Momentary blinking as he realized it was indeed Casey, Chuck had to stop and grimace at his lack of spy skills. Turning his head towards the wall, he assessed the risk to the mission. How had Casey slipped in like that? 

Okay, he still had choices. Part of him wanted to just get on with it, but rationally, he’d bet a box of his boyfriend’s Cohibas that Casey didn’t see him when he came in. The waiter had done him a favor, and if Chuck weren’t an asshole, he’d over tip him for that. 

There was no holding back now. Fate had Casey taking an empty barstool that would position his back squarely at the kid, having to pivot all the way around in order to point himself towards Chuck. And with the costumed police officer now standing behind him off to the side, Casey was somewhat boxed in. 

Raising his empty glass, Chuck signaled the waiter for another martini. Why not have one more while he sat here enjoying the scenery. Besides, being an asshole meant he’d make Casey wait for him. 

Chuck turned his attention back to the matter at hand. “You’re wondering, aren’t you, big guy?” he murmured, noticing the tension across his back that only a lover could discern. “Curious, though. That’s a start.” 

The kid looked down, realized his knee was jiggling, and frowned at himself. Maybe he should pull his head out and focus on getting his own shit together. 

Because, hell, think about it. His boyfriend had assimilated with Al-Qaeda as a double agent when Chuck was still trying to figure out the library schedule back in junior high. Did he really think Casey wouldn’t find a way to fit into an Irish gay bar? Since technically, he was both of those things? 

It took a special brand of idiot to just figure that out now. Go Cardinals. 

All right, so maybe the ability to assimilate wasn’t the surprise, but rather, the willingness to do it. Because in the sometimes scary playground between Casey’s ears, a man did not show up at a bar in a Halloween costume because a piece of paper told him to do it. 

Yet, here he was. 

“One martini, sir,” the waiter said in a much more distant manner than before. He set the glass down on a napkin. “Anything else?” 

“I’m – uh.” Chuck cleared his throat. “All set here, babe.” 

The sailor mock-saluted him and walked away. Chuck gave a fleeting look towards the bar. It was a fluke that Casey did not choose that moment to turn around, either. The one time Chuck had saluted him – or ‘violated military protocols with the sloppiest damn salute a snot-nosed civilian had ever attempted’ – Casey had nearly bit his hand off. God knows what he would do with a Lycra-encased sailor not wearing any underwear. 

After taking a long swig of courage, Chuck turned and just looked at him for a long minute. It was the first time he had really got an eyeful of Casey in a kilt sitting down. He had to thank God for Morgan’s somewhat shorter cousin, since the length made it ride up his legs quite a bit. There was just a little flutter of tartan blue hanging from both sides of the seat and tucked under his ass. It would only take a shift to see if he really remembered to remove his boxers. 

God, he was pretty. 

It only took one look at the circling buzzards to see that the kid wasn’t the only one who thought so. 

“Hey, I like your ... kilt,” the blonde and buff policeman was saying. He gave Casey a very thorough once over and slid a big forearm across the back of his barstool. “What do you have in your pouch?” He paused to point down to Casey’s lap. “Right there in front, big guy?” 

“What the hell?” Chuck said to himself, jaw dropping. His head swiveled so quickly he nearly felt a twinge of whiplash. 

Then he narrowed his eyes at the dickhead. 

This guy did not just make a play for his boyfriend, did he? 

Chuck blinked again. The smarmy smile, the gesture towards Casey’s crotch .... 

He did make a play! He so did. 

Still gaping at them, Chuck saw Casey nod at the bartender as the man slid a glass in front of him. After taking a drink, his boyfriend glanced up at the fake police officer. Chuck had to cock an ear to hear him. 

“– need something to keep my weapon safe –” 

That was all it took for Chuck’s brows to creep up his forehead. 

He just said what now? 

The man, who looked to be in his mid-thirties, laughed and leaned in, saying something that the kid couldn’t quite catch. 

Chuck’s eyes narrowed again. He took note as the man, whose name he caught as Brad or Doug, maneuvered closer to Casey, his hand lingering on Casey’s back as he spoke to him. Chuck studied them, wondering at the feelings swirling in his stomach. It had to be fear that he was about to witness Casey shoving his foot up this guy’s rectum. 

It amazed him how a minute went by and Casey didn’t set his drink aside and rise. Instead, he sat there going along with the guy’s blatant flirting. Honestly, maybe they were just talking, but the way the other man checked him out, the passing of a drink down the bar that allowed them to brush hands, had subtle overtures that weren’t so subtle. 

There were several flat screen TVs above the bar, and one of them had a game on that eventually created a convenient excuse to refocus his attention. Maybe Casey used it as a way to get the guy to back off. Or at least get his roaming, okay, fucking hand off the back of that chair. 

Whatever they were saying, Chuck could only think about how much he wanted to bite it off. 

Mr. Buff Officer seemed to know how to play the game. “– see that crosscheck? Didn’t call that one –” 

“– holding the stick –” he heard Casey rumble back at him. 

“No way,” the kid whispered. John Casey was falling for this guy’s little ‘let’s watch the game together’ ploy? Could this guy be any more obvious? 

On the other hand, if Casey was yanking Chuck’s chain, this was officially not funny anymore. 

Chuck took another swig, quietly seething. He listened with some kind of detached – horror was the word – realizing that he had overlooked a near fatal flaw in his plan. It would seem that putting his boyfriend in a hot costume in the middle of a gay bar on Halloween was not Chuck’s most shining act of brilliance. 

Out of the corner of his eye, the kid saw that his next worst fear was coming to life. A construction worker with no shirt, only a tool belt and leather vest – and how can that even meet safety code! – began dawdling on the other side of his boyfriend. 

Oh, great. That hard-hatted asshole was not watching the game, either. He only feigned interest, but come on. Chuck could see the way this jerk’s eyes traveled over Casey’s torso, lingering at the kilt, and down his bare legs. 

Chuck inclined his head at the ‘construction worker’ and sipped off the top of the martini. Though the kid considered himself a non-violent person, he did have to wonder what the man would look like with his leather tool belt wrapped around his bulky neck and hung from the ceiling fan. 

“– Brock ... nice to meet – there was no way that was checking from behind –” 

It sure as hell was, Chuck thought, scowling at him. 

“– got it in the crease –” 

Chuck sucked in a breath. 

“– five on three advantage –” 

What, couldn’t this guy even count? The construction worker – Brock, puh – might have huge pecs, but he wasn’t a genius. Clearly, what the two of them had going was a two on one advantage. 

“Asshole,” Chuck muttered. And this shirtless showoff had that down to a T without requisitioning a government-owned suit. 

While he was thinking about it, the layers of debonair silk and cotton were beginning to make him itch around the collar. Chuck pulled on it a little to air himself out and lifted his glass. Most of it spilled down the front of his shirt when Chuck jolted at the sudden racket at the bar. 

Something happened in the game that made the two interlopers let out a whoop. Even Casey gave a short fist pump in the air as the other men then high-fived. 

“Just great.” Chuck rolled that around in his head. It was something he just learned about himself. He really could hate football more than he already did. How was he going to get rid of these guys? 

Better question. Why the hell wasn’t Casey getting rid of them for him?! 

On the next play, the police officer made another move, far more flagrant. This time, his hand closed in a flirtatious squeeze over the back of Casey’s neck. Casey pushed away, but not with anger. He elbowed the man and looked away with a grin. A damn grin. 

Chuck glared at their backs, taking a harder look at that reply. As he watched Casey order another drink, he was sure of one thing. The swirling in his belly had nothing to do with fear after all. No, it was nothing that simple. He didn’t want to think about it, but it was there. The possessive heat the ogling had evoked in him was jealousy. 

It wasn’t just the jerks, either. Sure, they were ninety-nine percent of the effort going on between them, but Chuck couldn’t help but notice that Casey, in a quiet way, seemed to be enjoying the attention. Maybe toying with them a little just for the hell of it. 

Buff Officer asked Casey something that caused a quick smile. The song from the jukebox had changed to an old eighties anthem, louder than before, and Chuck wasn’t exactly a lip reader. He wondered what was said ... and why Casey let the man leave his arm on the back of his chair. 

“If I had a light saber, that arm would be toast, Casanova,” Chuck grumbled, forcing the icy stare away. He tried to wave down the waiter again, and thought about approaching the bar to get Casey’s attention when the waiter ignored him. Though with the way those two were hovering, he may not even get close to him. 

That errant thought only pissed him off more. 

He’s off the market. As in hands off, bitches. 

Whoa. 

Where did that come from? Bringing Casey half naked to a bar was hauling out some latent tendencies Chuck never knew he had. 

There was time to think of that later. Now, the men had some words to share out of Casey’s earshot. Instead of draping themselves over him like bad rugs, one took the arm of the other and pulled him off to the side. 

Watching them approach, Chuck wondered if he had entered some bizarre alternative universe where it was okay to gawp at another man’s merchandise. Or one where he could hit them with that boxy steel napkin holder at the end of the table if he wanted to. 

Just a thought. If he were prone to violence. 

As luck would have it, in order to talk privately, they now stood only a dozen feet away from the kid’s table. He couldn’t help but be rubbed the wrong way at their proximity. He also couldn’t help but tip his ear in their direction, quite spy-like, to listen in. Over the thrum of the music and chatter of conversations, it wasn’t easy to catch the entire gist of the conversation. He held us breath, listening. 

“– don’t know what game you’re playing ... got eyes on him first –” 

Chuck gnashed his teeth together. Annoyance was quickly turning to green-eyed laser beams pointed at these two. 

“– just admit that ... calling dibs ... not –” 

Jolting too quickly at the word dibs, the kid knocked over his glass. It was empty, not that he was paying attention to that anymore. 

“– hey ... see something you want ... go after it –” 

“– not gonna let you move in and tap my –” 

Oh, God. Chuck pushed hard against the back of the seat, trying not to get up or say anything. The plan was to accost Casey alone at the bar, not having to create a spectacle with two horny lechers who could learn a thing or two about boundaries! 

“– so what if I wanna see ... got boxers on under –” 

Chuck buried his head in one hand. He doesn’t, okay?! Not if he followed the instructions! 

“– you heard ... said he had a boyfriend already –” 

“Yeah?” The costumed policeman pulled away, laughing. “– shouldn’t leave his ass alone then if he –” 

“– stop being stupid and dicking around –” 

Chuck’s cell phone buzzed. Automatically, he checked the screen: a text from Morgan wondering if Casey liked his surprise. There was a winking emoticon at the end that made Chuck cringe. Oh, the things he wanted to do to that smiley face. 

“– if we ... to be fair ... take the first crack at him ... then you –” 

First crack ... at his boyfriend? 

How could this get any more screwed up! 

The bar napkin was crumpled in his hand before Chuck became conscious that he had picked it up. He turned his head, not trying to hide his face any longer. It allowed him to give each man an unwavering glower, and beyond them, keep an eye on his lover at the same time. “Okay, I might’ve made a huge mistake,” he mumbled to himself, “but I can fix it.” 

“– bet you ten dollars, bro, you won’t be taking home ... that sweet little piece of filet –” 

Hearing his boyfriend referred to degradingly as a piece of meat, Chuck looked down to see a slight tremor in his fingers. Two martinis, yes, but also a good deal of resentment. Maybe the urge to protect what was his. 

Chuck’s gaze shifted back to Casey. Watching the game and oblivious to the men playing what’s under the kilt. With his man. 

The thought made Chuck’s fist, out of sight under the table, clench. Even thinking of a fight was ridiculous, however. These two could kick his ass in the time it would take to kindly tell them to keep their greasy meat hooks out of his killer hot Highlander. 

Double crap. Where the hell was this possessiveness coming from? 

Chuck slipped his phone inside his jacket, ear slanted at them to hear any other nauseating overtures. Had he ever had to witness his boyfriend getting hit on before? Besides a few of the harmless yoga-pants-wearing mamas at the Buy More, pining for a scandalous amount of time at the Beast Master? No, and Chuck was fairly certain Jeff and Lester would tell him if they ever witnessed that kind of exhibition. 

Maybe the feelings were always there, kept safely tucked away. Maybe he was that guy. 

And maybe it was time to ... try not to get his ass kicked because of it. 

The kid flicked a look over at the two snakes who had the audacity to move into his territory. Well, dammit, chances were that this would end badly, but this was it. Now or never. 

Setting the glass down, Chuck rose and made his way behind them through the crowd, watching the two of them come up behind Casey. Mr. Policeman, feeling his buddy was presumptuous in leading the way, grabbed the bare-chested constructor worker and spun the guy to face him. 

As he reached for the other man, the fake officer’s sleeve slipped past his wrist. It was in that second that Chuck caught an odd-looking double braided leather bracelet on the man’s arm. A steel button with blue and red maritime symbols, a cross, an anchor – 

The Intersect all but bitch slapped him upside the head. 

“Oh, no ....” Chuck said. He cut his eyes to the side rather than draw attention to himself. While he held his breath, the splattering of images galloped through his brain. 

A blood moon over a silhouette of black knives 

An empty swing in a park surrounded by snow 

A cargo ship stacked with metal freight containers 

Two children running from a truck in the middle of a two lane road 

A Neo-classic courthouse. Carved stone columns with Roman numerals etched in the facade 

The blood moon 

Chuck blinked and shook off the flash. After that left him – only the mini migraine still lingering – the kid paused, tilting his head slightly as he considered the data the Intersect had dished out on the man. 

Like always, the flash had dissipated as quickly as two sneezes, but what it left behind this time might be ... interesting. Usable, even. 

Before jumping into the mission, Chuck took a moment to adjust his silk tie, glossed a hand over the offensively expensive jacket. The muscles of his face relaxed, yet his eyes became sharper. The aura of in-over-his-head nerd altered into the version of Charles Carmichael that had a devil on his shoulder. The darker variety of Carmichael, since Chuck liked to consider that his alter ego wasn’t that bad of a guy when he was saving the world for eleven bucks an hour. 

Now with a little confidence in his step, Chuck approached them from behind, fighting down the desire to cuff the officer with the toy restraints that dangled from his belt. That would keep those damn hands to himself. 

The urge grew tenfold when the giant stud muffin strode up to Casey’s barstool and gave him a disarmingly shiny smile. A smile not unlike the one Chuck had pasted on and ready to go. Seeing it, his heart leapt into his throat. The kid happened to know firsthand the effect a grin like that could have on Casey. It was one of his Achilles’ heels, and one Chuck pulled from his arsenal on regular occasions when he didn’t stay in the car. 

“Hey, Wallace,” the officer said to Casey, and he slid his arm across the back of Casey’s chair before the larger man looked up at him with a squint. “Did I miss a score?” 

“Nice try,” Chuck said mildly, moving in behind Casey to give the man an even, take-no-shit look, “But, oh, yes. You are going to miss your score, Romeo.” 

Casey’s head snapped up. After the initial shock of hearing his boyfriend’s voice behind him, spy-mode kicked in. So setting down his drink, he slowly swiveled on the barstool to face the kid, his eyes then scanning over Chuck’s suit, tie, and more importantly, his smooth expression. Though his face remained unreadable, Casey seemed to be assessing the level of idiocy he had been drawn into. 

“Oh, hell,” Casey finally muttered under his breath. 

“Can I help you?” the officer asked Chuck in a way that plainly said, ‘scram, deadbeat. I got this one.’ 

Chuck bristled, straightened. “As a matter of fact, you can help me,” he answered. “You can start by kindly removing your damn hand from the back of this barstool.” 

The officer laughed. There wasn’t much humor in the noise, however. “My arm is comfortable where it is,” he said to Chuck, and deliberately glanced back at his friend in a manner to tell the kid he was outnumbered. “Why don’t you just run along, string bean?” 

Casey repressed a smile and took a drink, saying nothing. 

Really, Casey? Glad you find the humor in this! 

Chuck turned and stared down the frightfully toned competition, thankful for the few extra inches of height he had on the big doofus. “No, really, I think I was right.” 

“Right about what?” the man sneered. 

“This being unwanted.” And with a bit of theatrics, Chuck plucked the man’s sleeve up off the back of Casey’s chair, holding it like a dead rodent before handing it back to him. “There. Much better. Now why don’t you and your friend run along?” He lifted his hands and made a shoo gesture. “As in, buh-bye.” 

Casey put his elbows on the bar to hide his mouth behind his clasped hands. Wow. Thanks, boyfriend. 

“Listen, here, nerd,” the fake policeman said, “maybe you didn’t notice, but this ... place at the bar is taken.” He motioned his head towards Casey’s back and mouthed, “Leave, asshole.” 

“You’re right. It is taken.” Reaching out, he put his hand on the back of Casey’s neck, threading his fingers under his hair, massaging a bit roughly. “Sorry I was late, sweet cheeks. I trust you were able to ... behave around your new friends while I was gone?” 

Casey, not appreciating the pet name, turned to give him a dirty look. “Yeah. Where the hell were you?” 

“Good boy,” Chuck said, ignoring the question – and now the death glare pointed up at him. Hey, he had to sell it, which meant that instead of backpedaling, Chuck pinched Casey’s cheek, watched a jaw muscle tighten. “So Daddy doesn’t have a reason to give you a ... long talking to tonight?” 

“Hey,” the officer said, his anger beginning to take hold, “I don’t know who you think you are, nerd, but –” 

“Guess again.” Chuck helped himself to a handful of peanuts from the dish in front of Casey.  
“Meet the boyfriend who should know better than to ‘leave his ass alone’.” 

“You were listening to us?” Wary, the blond looked around the bar. “How did you –” 

“When you have a hot little piece like this one,” Chuck said, catching the back of Casey’s neck again, this time to give him a little shake, “you learn to keep your eyes on him, eh?” 

“What did you just say, Bartowski?” Casey growled, only loud enough for Chuck’s benefit. 

It took everything Chuck had to not drop his hand, but he wasn’t about to let Casey intimidate him. “Settle down,” he said to his lover, giving one more patronizing squeeze before he drew back. “That’s it, doll.” 

“Doll,” Casey breathed. “You little ....” 

“Is this guy real,” the officer asked Casey, “or do you want me to get rid of him?” 

“Oh. I’m real,” Chuck answered for Casey. “Thanks for keeping him company, but I think I’ll be taking over for my baby now.” He reached around Casey and took a sip of his Scotch. “But the question I have to ask, Chad ... is if you’re for real?” 

The officer froze. “What ... did you just say?” 

“Chad. That is your real name, right?” And it was, too. The Intersect had given the kid all kinds of juicy particulars, and for once, he could use them without being the government’s parrot. “Prendergast? Let’s see, Flemish roots. Don’t tell me. Are you of the Encino clan Prendergastes...es – wow.” Head tilt. “Say that five time fast.” 

The cocky I-got-you inflection in Chuck’s voice had put a snap in Casey’s spine. Immediately, the curious and amused version of Casey disappeared and Major Casey, handler and boyfriend of the government’s most precious asset took over. He rose from his seat and faced the man unswervingly, nudging Chuck in the shoulder to move him safely out of the way. 

Confused, Chad backed up a step. “Who ... who told you my name?” Without waiting, he leaned towards Chuck and hissed, “No one can know that, man!” 

“Dude, what is he talking about?” the construction worker asked. 

“Uh, nothing.” Sure, nothing. Now it was this guy who looked like he wanted to crap himself. 

Brock regarded Chuck suspiciously before angling around to his friend. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, forget it. I’m fine.” Chad turned only to acknowledge him for a second, afraid to take his eyes off of Chuck. “Do you think you can ... flag down the bartender? Get me a drink?” 

Brock took his wallet out of his tight jeans and stalked off. When he was out of earshot, Chad’s eyes became frantic. “Who the hell are you?” 

Casey had heard enough. He was already gritting his teeth hard enough for Chuck to feel it. Without knowing the full story – Casey preferred to sort out the bodies later – he began inching towards his prey, body taut. This could get ugly, the kid decided, because he guessed Casey was packing some heat under the kilt. And a gun. 

“Easy, doll,” Chuck said to Casey, one hand settling on his shoulder. 

“Bartowski, I will –” 

But Chuck slid around him to stand in front of Chad, earning a feral noise that almost made him soil himself. Boy, Beckman would not see the humor in ruining the Italian suit. 

“Carmichael. Charles Carmichael.” Chuck made no effort to extend a hand. Rather, he enjoyed another taste of Casey’s drink. “And my baby here goes Naughty McDarlin’ ... when he’s badly behaved.” 

“Listen, you big douche,” Chad blurted, “do you work for him? Am I in danger?” 

“Nah,” Chuck said, taking another sip of Casey’s Scotch. “We’re the good guys.” 

“You’re about ready to leave through that window ....” Casey growled in his ear. 

Uh-oh. 

Next to him, he could feel the hardened solider and NSA agent in his boyfriend tense. Since he hadn’t come clean on the level of threat this guy posed, Chuck figured he just gave Casey a damn good reason to elbow him to the side, throw him over his back, and get the hell out of here. 

It all meant Chuck had approximately three nanoseconds to explain before this got embarrassing. “We’re, um, agency auditors. Just want to make sure you’re safe. Witness Protection working out for you, Chad?” 

“Do you work for my uncle?” The man’s eyes darted to the side, searching. “He found out, didn’t he? Hey, I was only using a little leverage, okay? He owed me for the shipment. I – I didn’t know the feds were watching. And the rest – they offered a deal, man! Acquittal for my testimony. I had to! They didn’t give me a choice – tell him that!” 

“Ah, hell,” he heard Casey say. 

“Calm down, Chad,” Chuck told him, trying to mop up the damage. “We don’t work for your uncle.” 

Mr. Construction Worker appeared with two beers. “Here,” he said, handing one off to Chad. Since Casey was on his feet now, looming, the man took a few seconds to size him up before he moved back a judicious step or two. “Come on. Ignore these two. The skinny one is an asshole.” He turned to Chuck and pointed the stink eye at him. “What a douche for testing your boyfriend like that.” 

“Hey, I gotta get out of here, man,” Chad said. He handed the beer back to his startled friend and pushed through the crowd towards the exit. 

“What about – where are you going?” Brock stalked off in a huff after him. “Jerk,” he mumbled as he left, and added a few other unpleasant names and pithy putdowns to boot. 

Chuck kept his mouth shut and let him just run with his tail between his legs. Amazing, but both men were gone, leaving Chuck free to flirt with the kilt-wearing sweet potato at the bar. All this without getting his ass kicked. It was hard not to act surprised. 

He turned to Casey and gave him a dazzling smile. As soon as he did, he saw it was wasted effort. 

“Moron,” Casey said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You do realize that lowlife is on the phone with his agency handler as we speak. They’ll have him packed up and shipped off to another location with another identity by tomorrow morning.” He lowered his hand, giving Chuck a stellar view into his surly face. “You just cost the taxpayers at least a half million dollars to pull off an operation like that.” 

Chuck waffled. Moment of truth. He could let Casey win by ruining his cover, or he could – 

“That’s only for losers who pay taxes, eh, babe?” 

“What?” Casey’s head had nearly spun off his neck at the insinuation. “You think honest, hard-working American taxpayers are ... losers?” 

“Yeah, you know how it works,” Chuck drawled, winking as he helped himself to Casey’s Scotch. “There are ways around those things if you play the game.” 

Casey’s hard stare didn’t waver. “What do you have to say for yourself, Bartowski?” 

Chuck tried to hide his wince. Of course, Casey would keep pushing to get him to break character. 

It wasn’t going to be that easy. 

The kid squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. “Listen, doll, I hope it didn’t upset your sweet little head that I had to impersonate your boyfriend just now.” Chuck slid into the stool next to him. “What did you say your name was, angel?” 

Casey gave him a squint that said he could still get carried out of here. Underneath, though – and it could’ve been an optical illusion – Chuck swore he saw a tiny glimmer of piqued interest. “John,” Casey said after chewing on his lip for a moment. 

“John. Nice.” Chuck reached over and dawdled with a few tiny curls on the back of Casey’s neck. “Yeah, I could see those two ... skirt-chasers had you in their sights, but I called dibs on that when you first sat down.” 

Casey frowned at him, looking vaguely like a big animal caught in the headlights. His agent brain had to be kicking into gear by now, Chuck figured, gradually grasping what he knew about the situation. 

You came here alone. You met a stranger .... 

Casey just shook his head, slowly, but eventually he let out a low laugh. “Yeah, you rescued me. Let’s go with that, eh?” 

Chuck grinned and struck his Carmichael pose, all killer-suave and cool. “Good thinking, doll. Why don’t you take a seat? Saved one just for your fine tight ... self.” 

One brow rose, and Casey managed to make even that look threatening. At first, Chuck thought Major Casey was going to drag him out by the collar for using that pet name one too many times, but the overpowering inquisitiveness seemed to win out. Despite having that in his favor, Casey eyed him for a long minute before he sat back down on the barstool. 

“Now what, ace?” 

“Need another drink, lamb chop?” 

“Drop the lamb chop or I drop you.” 

“Um, is that a yes?” 

“Nah. Still wondering why I’m here.” Casey surveyed the joint and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Jesus, this place puts the gay in Gaelic.” 

The swallow of Scotch was only partway down, and it took all of Chuck’s energy to keep it moving that way. “Yeah, doll?” Chuck said in a savvy voice, and he slipped a hand onto Casey’s knee to give it a little tweak. “Well, you put the, uh, lick in delicious.” After that, the kid paused to wrinkle his nose at what had just come out of his mouth. “Oh.” 

Casey snorted, looked down the bar, and raised a hand at the bartender. “I changed my mind,” he said, and then louder to the man pouring drinks, “I think I’m gonna need one more.” 

“Uh, hands down, babe.” Chuck did it for him by taking his wrist. “I got this. Doll-face here wants another Scotch,” he now spoke to the bartender, “and I’ll have a dry martini. Just a splash of lemon. Three olives. Kalamata if you have them.” 

The bartender looked at Casey – what kind of a douche is this? – and went to fetch the drinks. 

Chuck ignored him by fiddling with his cuff. Maybe he was getting the hang of this. 

When he looked over at Casey, he saw that the other man had pushed his empty glass away and began watching the game again. 

Seemingly, playing hard to get. 

“You have a boyfriend?” Chuck asked, not sure how Casey would answer. 

“Yeah, I have one of those.” Casey took a sip from the Scotch that arrived and shrugged. “He’s ... not here.” 

“No?” Chuck felt a grin blossom, but he kept it in check. “Where is he?” 

“Playing idiot games on his Nintendo with his moron friend.” 

So few words, so many insults. 

And it was an X-box 360, for crying out loud! 

“Ah, the missing boyfriend dilemma,” Chuck croaked in his best James Bond. “Maybe he is an idiot to leave your fine ass here, doodlebug. But that just leaves more for me.” 

Casey rolled his eyes, which Chuck roughly translated as ‘you’ll have to do much better than that’. 

“So, a kilt, huh?” Chuck glanced down and whistled between his teeth. “Great legs you have there. What time do they open?” 

You wanted asshole, you got asshole. 

“Closed indefinitely,” Casey said without looking away from the game. 

All right. He had to get his mind on his role. This was an act. Perchik, remember? He could do this. 

“Really.” Chuck leaned in closer to whisper in one ear, “We could flip a coin to see if they’ll stay that way. What are the chances I get head?” 

Casey stood up. 

“Hey, where’re you going, doll?” 

“The head. Do you mind?” 

“Oh. Sure.” Chuck wheeled around on the barstool, turning towards the crowd, which afforded a view of his boyfriend shouldering his way through the men milling about. It was the same way he drove the Vic. I’m bigger, therefore get out of my way. 

As the crowd parted for him, reminding the kid of a drunken, boisterous Red Sea, Chuck had to give the evil eye to the reaction. Standing up had only drawn attention to Casey, and to the costume. Heads had turned. And why not? Wide chest, chiseled face. Under the kilt, legs for miles. 

Oh, hell. 

Seeing the attention turn to his boyfriend, Chuck felt himself washed in the green ooze of jealousy again. Enough of that. He was going to have to step up the seduction to get his lover out of here a bit quicker than this inadequate display was getting him. 

That website had it all wrong. It should’ve said crappy pick-up lines. 

Okay, think. He needed to tone down the asshole and hit Casey’s weak spot. 

Slurping off the top of the martini that had arrived, Chuck had to wonder one thing. Did Casey even have a weak spot? 

When Casey returned a few minutes later, a forced yet confident grin spread across Chuck’s face. For one, he had actually returned, which could’ve been iffy, but two, it would be disastrous to let Casey know he had a hit a speed bump with his coolness. 

“So ... what do you do for fun, Johnnie-Pie?” he asked as Casey took his seat. “Hobbies. Music?” 

“Been too busy watching my boyfriend’s bony butt to have any fun.” 

“Hm. Too bad,” Chuck said. “He sounds like ... he can be a bit of trouble for you.” 

“He can be,” Casey agreed, taking a sip. “Sometimes a real pain in the ass.” 

Maybe the change in direction wasn’t working. 

It took Chuck a minute to regroup. The pause in discussion was getting a little awkward, though Casey used the time to get caught up in the game again. Chuck vaguely saw a man with no teeth beating another with a hooked stick. It explained a lot about Casey’s attention span tonight. 

“John – oh, can I call you that?” 

“Beats the hell out of the alternatives.” 

“I don’t know. I think you are a doll, babe.” 

Casey rolled his eyes, but under the bar, he did tug at the kilt a little. “Did you have something to say?” 

“Now you’re eager, huh?” Chuck said, smiling as he shifted in his seat until his leg was aligned with his boyfriend’s. His hand dropped on Casey’s thigh, rock hard under his palm. “You sound like you need a ... night off. Something different.” The hand gave him a slight squeeze. “Have a little fun. Am I right, gorgeous?” 

Casey, still a bit off kilter, made a light scoffing noise at the flirting. The TV grabbed his attention again, or at least he pretended it did because the kid saw his jaw flexing. A tell-tale sign of something deeper going on. After watching a play unfold, he turned in his seat, and Chuck found a pair of shrewd blue eyes studying him. “My boyfriend?” He shrugged, curving his other hand over Chuck’s, resting on his thigh. “The doofus I told you about?” 

Chuck nodded, his gaze holding Casey’s with forced steadiness. He couldn’t let that draw him out. “Yes. What ... what about him?” 

There was silence for a stretch. Casey shook his head and looked away, took a long drink. Obviously avoiding Chuck’s questioning eyes. “He’s ... damn near perfect.” 

Chuck swallowed. “He ... is?” The asshole trying to pick up this knockout was disappointed, but the boyfriend underneath felt the flush of pleasure rise in his cheeks. “Wait a minute. Damn near?” 

“One thing about him,” Casey answered, watching the game although Chuck could see he tried to choose his words very carefully. “He ... always needs to be told what to do.” 

“I’m ... glad you, uh, cleared that right up.” Chuck’s brow wrinkled. “He ... well, maybe he knows that you like being in charge.” 

“I just do it.” 

“Oh – I – there’s a difference?” Chuck thought long and hard for a moment, and then removed his hand from Casey’s leg. This was Casey’s way of telling him something, though it was delivered in the usual cryptic way the kid had come to expect. As clear as Casey’s disappearing ink that needed to be held under the blue beam of the flashlight he kept in his locker. 

No, this was more like an equation. Simple as one plus one, he just didn’t see it yet. 

Casey likes to be in charge – almost all of the time, apparently. Okay, that’s one. 

The big guy thinks Chuck needs to be told everything. He seemed to have a problem with that. That’s another. Two. 

Okay, and then there’s this: there might be times when the mighty John Casey doesn’t necessary want to be in charge. Wants someone else to take the reins and though he won’t admit it, inwardly, he might ... like it. 

Outwardly, he’d call that person a giant asshole for even attempting to usurp the Major’s – 

Whoa. Back up. 

Asshole? 

Note to self: God, Casey’s a terrible communicator! 

Chuck let out a breath and scooted closer, one side pressed against him. The white shirt over the kilt was thin, and he liked the feel of his lover’s bicep against his arm. “Hey. Doll-face,” he said. “I have an idea.” 

“The last time you had an idea, I ended up in a gay bar wearing a skirt.” 

“Kilt.” Chuck motioned downward awkwardly, because it was really hard to tell the difference in such dim light. “Technically, it’s a kilt. And think of it this way. You got to wear a sporran, right? A place to conceal your weapons? How cool is that?” 

“You sound like my moron boyfriend, trying to convince me this was a good idea.” 

Chuck barely listened. Instead, he let his hand slide over Casey’s thigh again, move down to cup his kneecap. 

Fact three. The final numerator in the equation. Casey, just this once, wanted him to take charge. 

Despite himself, Chuck had to smile. “Back to the idea, love bug,” he said, resuming his Carmichael slick talk. “Want to hear it?” 

Casey tilted an eyebrow. “You see the hesitation?” 

“Uh, yes?” 

“Okay, good. Now you can tell me.” 

Chuck put the end of the olive skewer in his mouth and sucked one off. Chewed slowly, not breaking eye contact. “That boyfriend of yours. Do you expect him home anytime soon?” 

“Heh. I don’t know,” Casey said, helping himself to some of the nuts in the bowl. “But usually, when the nerd gets with the little troll, they lose track of time.” 

“So, what you’re saying is that it’d be easy enough to –” 

“– slip in without him knowing?” Casey turned on the stool and gave Carmichael a full inspection. “Yeah, okay,” he said in a low voice. “My place isn’t far ... and the geek is pretty gullible.” 

“This means ... what now?” 

Casey emptied his glass. “What do you say we get the hell out of here. Charles.” 

-x-End Just This Once Part Three End-x- 

A/N: Sounds like the boys are heading home for some Bit-O-Honey and Whoppers. Let’s hope Chuck isn’t a Butterfinger about this. ;) I hope you had half as much fun as I did. 

One part to go! So glad you are enjoying this, and I love to hear from you. 

Til next time, 

\- skye


	4. Part Four

Just This Once

A Halloween Tale in Four Easy Bites

(Part Four)

-x-

Chuck picked up his drink, thought about what he heard, and set it down without taking a swig. “Um – barkeep, our tab?” He waved his arm and snapped his fingers. “You just keep your sweet patootie on that stool,” he said to Casey, “I’ll take care of the bill.” 

“I did bring my wallet, you know.”

“My treat, doll. You can ... uh, pay me back in an hour.” Chuck passed off his credit card and tossed a tip on the counter. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Slow down, stud.” Casey polished off the Scotch and rose to his feet. “Want your card back, don’t you?”

“Oh.” Chuck blinked at his momentary confusion before Carmichael joined the party again. “I ... got a little light-headed there when you stood up, beautiful,” he leaned in to say, “imagining where I’ll wrap those legs later tonight.”

“These lines work on other hook-ups, Carmichael?”

“Only the pretty ones, babe.” Chuck winked, took his card and signed the tab. “There. Let’s take this somewhere private, eh, dumpling?”

“Nix the name.”

“Can do,” Chuck said, smiling as he reached into his jacket for the car keys. “Ditch your car, babe. You can fetch it tomorrow. I want you riding ... shotgun.”

“Before you take charge, Carmichael, one more thing.” They were half way to the door, but Casey stopped in his tracks and took Chuck’s arm. “You are not getting behind the wheel of a car.”

Chuck pulled up short. “What? Why?”

Casey stared at him, a disbelieving look on his face. “Christ. How many of those martinis did Carmichael have?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Three, maybe?”

Casey shook his head. “And most of my Scotch. Not exactly the breakfast of champions, Charles.”

“Already thinking of breakfast, doll? Pancakes okay? Or will the nerd get his nose out of joint watching you serve me in bed?”

“Give me the keys.”

There was a stare down between the men. After a few seconds, Chuck saw he was not going to win this one, so he frowned and handed over the car keys.

“I’ll put them away for safe keeping.” Casey opened up his sporran, still dangling in front of the kilt, and began digging around inside. Immediately, heads turned, obviously to enjoy the sight of a large hunk of a man in a loose, low buttoned shirt and plaid kilt dawdling with his strategically placed pouch. A few were staring.

“Hey, babe, where’re ya goin’?” one called behind Chuck’s back.

The kid guessed they weren’t referring to Carmichael.

Chuck looked over. No matter how he felt, the resentment, the jealousy, he couldn’t let Casey see that. Glowering at a few bystanders, he took Casey by the arm and pulled him through the crowd towards the door. “Come on,” Chuck said, ignoring the looks they were getting. “What are you doing, anyway?”

“Looking for my keys. Slow down, Carmichael. I can’t see a damn thing in there.”

“Keep walking.” Chuck, sensing the distraction they – okay, Casey – had caused among the horny revelers, pulled him until they were out on the sidewalk. The bar was off the main drag in East Hollywood, but he still felt like an idiot because passing cars next to them could see Casey quite clearly. “Let’s get out of the way, toots. Over here.”

“Toots?” Casey repeated darkly.

“You? Just be quiet,” Chuck told him. When they reached the corner of the building, the kid brought his boyfriend to a stop and prayed the catcalls were for a buff Iron Man going into the bar.

“Where are we going ... Carmichael.” In the meantime, Casey found the keys in his sporran and started to close it up. “My car’s over there.”

“How many – holy crap. Is that your gun?”

“Why don’t you say that a little louder?” Casey groused, looking past Chuck’s shoulder. “Didn’t expect me to leave the house without packing, did you?”

“Well, I –” 

“And if I recall the instructions, they said keep the kilt, lose the boxers. Kind of limits the options, eh?”

“But a gun – wait.” Chuck’s brows crinkled as his gaze traveled down Casey’s torso. “You followed the ... last bit of the instructions, too?”

Casey answered by snorting, avoided his eyes briefly.

So yes, Chuck figured, and the kid did everything he could not to smile.

Perhaps waiting to see what Chuck would do next, Casey leaned his back against the outside brick wall, arms folded over his chest. The green and yellow neon sign of The Crossed Swords barely reached them where they stood at the corner near the ally. But when the splash of light hit his boyfriend’s profile, it washed over the sharp angle of his jaw and cheekbone, perfectly aligned. Chuck momentarily forgot Carmichael and he took a deep breath. No matter what happened in there tonight, that was his.

“I thought we were getting out of here?” Casey asked before jangling the keys, his lips held firmly together as if suppressing a smile. “Going back to my place? Before the dork gets home?”

Chuck wisely ignored the little dig. “Sure, angel, that’s the plan, but one thing first.” He moseyed over and laid a hand on the wall next to Casey’s head, bent his head close. “How many drinks have you had tonight, doll face?”

Casey squinted at him. “What’s your point, Carmichael?”

“That’s what I thought. You just stand there and look pretty, baby cakes.” Chuck fished his phone out of his jacket. “Daddy’s gonna call us a cab.”

“Hell, I’m fine.”

Chuck, in a move that astounded even unflappable Carmichael, snatched the keys from Casey’s hand. “Think about it, toots. Do you really want to take a chance of getting pulled over,” and there was a lull while Chuck gave him a purposeful perusal down those legs, “dressed like that?”

“You seriously think we’ll get a cab on Halloween night in this part of town. Within an hour?” Casey made a short get real noise. “And what makes you think I’ll leave my car here?”

Now it was Chuck’s turn to make a get real noise. “You have seen your mode of transportation lately, haven’t you? Oh, about yay wide.” He spread his arms to his full wing span. “And yay long? How could someone steal it? Besides, aren’t there disguised rocket launchers prepared to deploy if anyone comes within ten feet of her hull?”

Casey scowled at Chuck. “I’m not waiting an hour for a cab, Bar – Carmichael.”

“And that is why we have Plan B.” Chuck was already texting.

Warily, Casey glanced up the road in the direction of the apartment. Seven miles away and not exactly walking distance. Especially not in a skirt. “Okay, genius,” he said in a skeptical tone. “Mind telling me what your plan is?”

“Easy, baby bear. I told you. Daddy’s got this covered.”

-x-

Fifteen minutes later, Sarah Walker pulled up in a big-ass black SUV and a smile. Can’t forget the smile. It was the one thing brighter than the headlamps flashing on them as she drove up to the curb. 

Chuck waved her down, though she had already seen them. Belatedly, Casey came out from behind a newsstand box, and now the streetlights gave her an eyeful.

The passenger side window came down. Sarah leaned over to the side to get a better view of her partner. “Oh. My. God.”

Shock, Chuck would call that, quickly followed by recognition, and on the heels of that, ‘holy hell, this just became the best Halloween night ever!’

“Hey guys, Trick-or-Treat,” she said, busting out an even bigger grin. “Having fun tonight, are we?”

“Thanks for coming out here, Sarah,” Chuck replied. “Hope we didn’t ruin your night.”

“I was just getting caught up on paperwork. Besides, I can tell,” and she considered them playfully, “I don’t want to miss this.”

Casey pulled Chuck aside. “That’s your idea of Plan B. Calling Walker?” The string of curses that came after that was colorful, specific, and terrifying. “That should fall somewhere after Plan fucking V! And V is walking home with this damn kilt tied around my head as a kerchief and my ass painted pink!”

Chuck tried to back up a step. “Um, I know you hate to wait, and as you agreed, we both had a few drinks.”

“Drinks, huh,” Sarah broke in, squinting at the building. “Does that sign say ... The Crossed Swords?” Her laugh made them both turn, since Agent Walker rarely let loose with one. “And you got Casey in there? Oh hell.”

“What’s so damn funny?” Casey growled.

“Uh, never mind. Let’s just get in, okay?” Chuck put a hand on his back, attempting to steer him towards the SUV.

“No, wait,” Sarah said, getting her head closer to the window, the toothy grin intact. “I have to get a good look at him first.” Her eyes dragged over the pissed-off Highlander before she whistled between her teeth. “Who knew my partner had such nice legs? Maybe Beckman has the wrong spy in a dress during these seduction missions.”

“Shut the hell up, Walker,” Casey told her, adjusting his kilt. “While you’re at it, scoot your ass over and get behind –” 

They were momentarily blinded by the flash from the camera on her iPhone.

“What the fuck was that!” Casey asked, bringing up a hand to block his eyes a beat too late.

“Casey, you are using that word a lot, and Sarah is doing us a big fav –”

“Blackmail,” she cut in, waggling the phone at them.

Casey straightened. “Walker, as primary handler of the asset, I order you to remove the image that includes the identity of the Intersect, or any gov –”

“Yeah, right,” she said as she slipped her phone into the console. “Get in, guys. If I have to keep staring at those swords, I may go in there – just to check it out, of course.”

Chuck shoved his finger and thumb against his eyelids. “God, I can’t believe I used to not be able to see through you, Sarah.”

She snickered under her breath. “Come on, John.”

“I am not getting in there,” Casey said sourly against Chuck’s ear. “Start walking.”

Now, aggravation colored Chuck’s face. Who was in freaking charge here, anyway?

“Get in the car, doll,” he ordered, quietly yet firmly, reminding Casey how it was going to be from here on out, “Or I will put you in the car.” How in the hell he would do that was another matter altogether, but it sure sounded good.

Casey simply stared at him, which Chuck took as a good sign. It could be much worse. A command volleyed at The Major from his civilian geeky boyfriend could’ve led to the silk tie being used as a collar to drag him home.

While Casey continued to seethe, Chuck walked over to the window. “I need to get something out of my car, Sarah. I’ll be right back.”

“You heard the man,” she said, shifting her gaze to Casey and shooting him a special kind of leer. “Your carriage awaits – oh, should I say trusty steed? Or do you Scotsmen prefer to travel on foot?”

“Can it, Walker.”

“Just get in.” Sarah smirked and added, “Doll.”

Oh, crap. She was not supposed to pick up on that.

Hearing a snarl behind him, Chuck got out of there fast. A minute later, he loped up to the SUV with a paper bag under his arm. While he retrieved the sack, Casey had obeyed orders – God, Chuck loved that – and had climbed into the SUV with Sarah. Rather than sit up front with his partner, however, his boyfriend was in the backseat and still swearing under his breath.

Well, Chuck might’ve been fazed, but Carmichael was not about to have that opportunity slip between his fingers. “You know, I’m going to ride back here with my date,” he said, scooting in next to Casey.

“Are you sure?” Sarah asked, tipping the rearview mirror to look at them. “More legroom up here.”

“Nah, we’re fine. It’s, uh, cozy, actually.” Cozy enough to slide his hand over Casey’s bare thigh, giving it a firm clutch. Then slanting his head, Chuck whispered against his boyfriend’s cheek, “Hope you don’t mind a little company, doodle bug.”

Leaning into him, Casey cursed the kid up and down a bit more for this stunt.

Chuck flinched, but Carmichael slid his fingers over his inner thigh and up a bit more. “Easy, babe,” he said. “Daddy just wants to find out what’s under there.”

“Move your hand,” Casey growled, “or I’ll –“

“I get who Casey is supposed to be,” Sarah said, her inquisitive blue eyes studying them in the mirror. “But Chuck, I’m at a loss as to who you are in this ... scenario. Don’t get me wrong, you look nice, both of you.” She arched an eyebrow, amused. “And I’m going to guess you probably caused quite a stir in that place?”

“Is it possible to get a ride without the chatter, Walker?”

“Ignore him, Sarah. He’s just mad that I had to shoo away the herd of guys trying to pick him up.” Another squeeze, moving higher, and Chuck breathed to his ear, “But boo bear here picked me to show him a good time.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Chuck.” Sarah took her eyes off the road for a second, and smiled at him. “I think that’s a suit from Castle’s inventory, so who are you supposed to be?”

“Carmichael. Charles Carmichael.” His British accent made her laugh and Casey cringe.

“Soooo,” Sarah continued, biting on her bottom lip. “Role play. Switching it up a little to keep things juicy, huh? Nice.”

“I so hate you right now, Bartowski,” Casey said in his ear. “Ah! The hell.”

Mission accomplished. Nope, no boxers. 

-x-

“Nice place you have here, kitten.” Chuck stepped slowly into the living room, eyes passing over the furniture. “Gun collector, huh?”

“Something like that,” Casey said. “Want a beer ... Carmichael?”

“None for me, babe. Did he say when he’d be back?” Chuck strolled over to the couch, checking out the room. “Your nerdy boyfriend?”

“Soon.”

Chuck was standing where he could partially see Casey in the kitchen. He watched him open the refrigerator, and got to it in time to close it for him. “Then instead of bringing me a beer, doll,” Chuck said, slipping his body between Casey and the refrigerator door, “you should be showing me to your bedroom.”

His boyfriend, empty-handed, gave him a perturbed look. It dissolved into an intake of breath, just as Chuck took Casey’s hips and pressed his pants to the kilt, kissing him while letting his lover feel how hard he was. “Want that, babe?” he asked, lips brushing. “See what you did, naughty boy?”

“I’ve killed men for less than that, kid,” Casey said gruffly but his body betrayed the threat by bringing a hand to Chuck’s waist.

“Shut it, boyfriend.” Gripping Casey’s forearms, Chuck simply seized his lips again before he could argue. Right now, he could do whatever he wanted to that mouth, and he did, playing with his tongue, pushing in as hard as he liked. It felt like hitting the jackpot when he worked a little moan out of his surprised lover.

Still kissing him thoroughly, Chuck used his hands, running them over the biceps, hard as rock. Not getting resistance, he then slid them along the outside of the shirt, tugging it out of the kilt, dragging his hands up and under. Bare skin to bare skin, finally. God, Casey was warm, the flesh, the muscles along his ribcage, every inch he could get his hands on was hot. His lover’s touch was often demanding, and Chuck took the clue to touch him the same way. Going around to the dip in his lower back, squeezing, the kid elicited a soft grunt of approval.

“Like that, do you?” Chuck dropped a kiss on his neck. “Giving in a little to The Carmichael, babe?”

Casey’s eyes narrowed at the thought of Chuck being anything but The Nerd.

“Okay, upstairs,” Chuck told him, dragging a hand down his ass. “Now, doll, or I’ll just have to do wicked things to you right here in the kitchen. And I’d hate to have your boyfriend walk in if I’m, uh, tapping your ass against the ... countertop?”

Crap. That wasn’t supposed to be a question.

“God, you really can be a dumb asshole,” Casey said. Chuck heard the laughter in his lover’s voice. He did take his hand, however, to lead the kid through the living room. “This way.”

-x-

“Looks boring,” Chuck said, glancing around the bedroom. His eyes landed on a framed picture sitting on the dresser, one that Ellie had taken. It was the two of them during a family outing with Clara at the planetarium. “This is the two of you?” Carmichael scoffed. “I can see why you prowl for fresh meat. How’d a fine piece of ass like you manage to hook up with such a dweeb, anyway?”

“The typical way.” Casey began kicking his boots off. “Hard ass meets hopeless geek. Saves the world between shifts at a dead end job. Boring as hell, really.”

That ruffled the kid a bit. Indentured servitude courtesy of Beckman, he wanted to point out if he was Chuck Bartowski. “Maybe he’s trapped.”

“He is trapped,” his boyfriend agreed. Not that Agent Casey was letting this admission bother him, because he simply shrugged. “With losers, sex offenders, drunks, and mama’s boys.” 

Chuck’s jaw fell open at the preciseness of the insult. He must’ve been saving up for that one.

Nah, he was just trying to get a reaction.

Maybe that’s what he would get.

“Did I say to take your boots off?” Chuck came around to the dresser, leaned back against it, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Or did you forget that I may want you to leave them on?”

Casey stilled, mid-toss. “Thought it would make it easier.”

“Easy. Heh.” Chuck pretended to weigh that before acquiescing to the point with a hand wave. “Yeah, sure. You can keep doing that, doll face. But next time, wait for my cue.” 

The boot hit the floor with more force than necessary, the kid thought, but Casey didn’t argue.

Chuck sat down on the bed, letting Casey know he wanted to watch rather than strip him. “Firm. Is this your side ... or his?”

“His is the soft one.” Casey smirked.

“You just shut up and keep working on those boots,” Chuck said. “And no matter how good you look in that shirt, it’s gonna look better there on the floor.”

Casey lifted a brow. 

Chuck fiddled with the blanket. He was testing him. “Sounds like with the chance of the doofus getting back, we only have time for a quickie, so hop to it, babe. Besides,” and he paused to rake his eyes admiringly over Casey’s chest, “I’ve been waiting all night to see what you’re hiding under your top.” 

“Oh, hell,” Casey said, rolling his eyes and doing his best not to laugh. “You are priceless, kid.”

“Carmichael, angel. Now get a move on.”

Casey gave him an inscrutable look, but when he started kicking off the second boot, the kid took off his suit coat and sat back on the bed. He didn’t have to pretend to be fascinated by the little show he was now orchestrating. There was never a time that the sight of his boyfriend’s body didn’t make his lower belly tighten. The willingness, starkness, of his exposure to Chuck was just as mind-bending as it always was. This time, maybe more.

“Keep stripping, doll,” Chuck said, and he nodded down his body.

Chuck took great pleasure out of watching. The blue plaid sash was lifted over his head first, and while Chuck followed every move, Casey folded it up and hung it on the back of a chair. After removing the swath of fabric and the sporran, his boyfriend pulled the shirt over his head, tossed it on the floor, and stood bare chested in front of Chuck.

“This what you expected?” Casey rumbled, put his hands on his hips. “Or did you really think I was hiding something?” He may have tried to act aloof, but Casey’s voice was already deeper, throaty. Maybe it was the pretense, the anticipatory air in their apartment, not knowing what was next. No doubt, this was a turn on for him. Heck, that was true for both of them. 

“Uh, n-no. Not at all,” Chuck said, trying to think of something suave to say as he kicked off the shiny leather shoes. “Looks to be in, um, tip-top shape.”

“Good. Then you might wanna put your eyes back in your head.” Still, just as Casey turned the bedside lamp lower, Chuck picked up on the hint of a smile, revealing that his boyfriend was secretly pleased he could still have that effect on the kid. “Now what?”

“C’mere, babe.” Chuck, leaning back on his elbows with legs dangling off the side of the bed, motioned a hand. It was Carmichael’s style to have Casey come to him. “Lemme get a better look at you.”

Casey sauntered over and looked down. “Comfortable, Carmichael?” 

“Could be better,” Chuck answered. Spreading his knees, he took hold of the kilt and put Casey between them, locking his thighs around his legs. “There. Nice.” He brought his hands up to touch that chest. Not gently. His fingers dug into muscle, as if testing a bull before climbing on for a ride in the arena. “You have one hell of a body, sugar puss. Your boyfriend work out with you?”

“Only there,” Casey replied, nodding at the mattress. “Skinny twit otherwise.”

The kid narrowed his eyes. Chuck would be offended by that.

Not Carmichael. He simply unfastened the buckle of the leather belt, lifting his hips off the mattress to snake it out of the belt loops, then unzipping the pants fully. “Speaking of the nerd,” Chuck said, and he slid the grey slacks down, only far enough to be out of his way, “you might wanna find something better to do with your mouth, doll, before he gets back here.”

There was no shame in how hard he was, either. All of the teasing and petting, kissing, as the night wore on had made Chuck’s dick stand up like a good soldier. Something the Major should appreciate. It helped to see that the kilt had a beautiful bulge in the front, easily visible now that the sporran was gone.

“I can sing. Is that what you want, Carmichael?” Casey asked in a low voice. “Or are you too shy?”

Chuck grabbed a pillow and put it under his head, not letting the erotic tone goad him to break character. It would be so easy to do it, too. To let Casey tear his clothes off and make him spew as easily as he always did. His boyfriend liked to tease that he knew exactly where Chuck’s deepest secrets were hidden.

Instead, the kid swallowed and collected his cool. “What I meant, baby, is maybe you want to show daddy a little appreciation for that drink I bought you at the bar.”

Whoa. Where did that come from?

“Kind of irresistible, Carmichael, even if you are a jerk.” He did reach down and take the kid’s cock in his hand, testing the girth and making Chuck suck in a breath between his teeth. “Not bad.” Casey’s hand curled, moving slowly. “Your boyfriend work out with you?”

Smart ass. It took everything not to just give into it. But no way would he let tonight end like this.

So Chuck exhaled and caught his thick wrist. “Not the hand, princess. I can to that for myself,” he said, brown eyes staring up at him intently. The lamp Casey had dimmed still bathed the room in enough light to see him hitch a breath at the bluntness. “Why don’t you ... use those lips for the greater good, darlin’?”

Holy – It had to be one of the first times Casey cooperated fully with an order from the kid.

“Oh, God, yeah. That’s it, doll –”

As Casey sunk down on his cock, sucking him into the back of his throat, he began working him in a way that only a lover would know. Like what it would do to the kid when his tongue pressed against the underside of his cock. Oh. Like that.

Chuck had to watch. Clumsily, he propped himself up on a big pillow, and seeing Casey on his knees, Chuck couldn’t take his eyes from such a show of compliance. Feeling Casey engulf him, the kid arched his hips up to work himself deeper somehow. Yes. Fucking God, yes. 

“That’s it, babe, suck it a little more ....” Oh God, he did it, too. Chuck could feel it through his balls. Sucking cock, Casey was always all business. The Major had a theory of siege and plunder, up and down, in and out, and it was the kind of thing that made Chuck forget to breathe as he fisted the blanket. Because when Casey gave head, it was best to just grab onto something and hold on tight.

“God, babe ... that boyfriend of yours ... he has to be an idiot – oh, yeah. Like that. Leaving a hot piece of ass like you at home ... when you have a mouth that can do that? Oh, fuck, you’re good. Yeah, I’d never let you out of my sight, doll. Yeah. That’s it.” Okay, now be a real tool. “Like daddy’s cock, don’t you?”

Casey groaned around him, and the vibration made Chuck’s hips lift up from the mattress. It also shut him up, and maybe that was Casey’s plan.

Letting go of the blanket, the kid threaded his fingers through Casey’s short hair, partly to touch him, partly to feel the movement and then slow him down. Not that he wanted to stop him, but Carmichael had more control than the kid ever dreamed of.

So he put his hand on the nape of Casey’s neck and gently pushed his head, moved his hips away. He watched as his cock slid out in a messy puddle of saliva. “That’s enough, babe,” Chuck said, gasping. “You proved you’re good at that.”

“Yeah? My boyfriend could learn a thing or two.” Casey bit down a smile, putting his hand on Chuck’s thigh. His thumb began to trace the lean muscle there, and he followed it with his lips. Kissing his skin, randomly sucking, Casey moved his mouth up to sweep kisses across the kid’s flat stomach, his abdomen, lips touching him so lightly. Wrestling some control, he purposely changed direction to follow the dent of his navel, avoiding his cock again, and making the kid’s stomach flutter. “What else do you like, Carmichael?”

“I’ll let you know in a minute,” Chuck murmured, played with a few locks of hair, inhaling sharply when Casey teased his lower belly, finding the ticklish spot he knew was there.

“That?”

“Ah! Not there.” When Chuck lowered his chin to look at him, he caught sight of his own cock, neglected at the moment, curved upward and glistened with Casey’s saliva. There was no question now that he was just as turned on by this game. “Easy, big guy.” Sliding a hand over his shoulder, Chuck lifted his hips to get a good rub against the side of his head. “I can take care of you next ....”

Casey snorted softly and tipped his head to look up at him. He was still breathing heavily, not moving from his position on the carpet between Chuck’s legs. “You have a plan, Carmichael?”

Chuck could feel his own heart pounding. Slowly, he leveled out his breaths and held onto Casey’s arm, thumb brushing over warm skin. “You can start by joining me right here,” the kid suggested, patting a space on the mattress next to him. “Leave the kilt on, doll. I can still get to everything I need. Climb up here.”

“You can, huh?” Casey rose and knee-walked over the blanket, his hand dragging up over the grey slacks, across the crisp white shirt. Since the kid was on his back, he could loom over him, but he could only touch as much as Chuck had bared – and purposely, it wasn’t much. Merely where his shirt was rucked up at his lower belly, and the exposed skin where he had tugged his pants down to get his cock out. Removing the last traces of clothing wasn’t part of his plan. The shield let him keep his distance, to be someone else.

“Sorry, I meant get your sweet ass down here. Next to me.”

The kiss was more insistent this time, chaotic, groping and passionate. They were both gasping when Chuck pulled away, hands clinging to the swell of his boyfriend’s big arms. With Casey now stretched out along his body, mouths still close and their hot breaths mingling, he reached under the kilt and fondled him. Then moved down to his balls, rolled them between his fingers.

Casey moaned, deep in his throat. It was what he liked. Carmichael had no clue, but Chuck had cracked that code a while back. 

Hearing the moan, Chuck closed his eyes, feeling a little quiver down his limbs. Even an ass like Carmichael couldn’t withhold the reaction. “You’re perfect, doll,” Chuck said, and wanting more, he brought a hand around him, pretending to discover that beautiful ass for the first time. He held the curve of muscle and then his long fingers grasped him, slid down to explore the crease.

Tight crease.

It gave him ... thoughts.

Chuck kissed him deeply again, wondering what a jerk would do now. Okay, maybe give him a little pressure with his knuckle in a sensitive spot. Be a little crude while he could. Because no doubt, Casey was ready to end this charade in about two seconds from now. It’d be Casey fucking him into the mattress for being a bad boy.

Why not have a little fun with it, then?

Chuck pressed his knuckle a bit more and brought their bodies into tighter contact. “You know what you said before?”

“Mm. What?”

“You still think, er, Carmichael can ... slip in without your boyfriend knowing?” 

After it was out there, the kid held back a wince, waiting for a laugh or a swat on his butt, conveniently available because Casey would have his slacks halfway down before Chuck could think.

“I’m counting on it,” Casey said, not looking at him.

Chuck managed not to gawp, but he was sure he turned red.

“Lube’s in the top drawer.” Casey nodded at the nightstand and untangled his limbs from Chuck’s to let him get up. “You know how ... to work it in, don’t you?”

Chuck forgot to breathe until Carmichael nudged him in the ribs. “You just worry about yourself, doll,” a sophisticated – yet shaky – voice told him. “Roll over. Let’s see that fine ass.”

“Like my ass, Carmichael?” Casey asked, chuckling, but the mattress creaked as he rolled over obediently. “That what you want?”

Chuck swallowed, lazily thumbing the head of his stiff cock. “Yeah, in fact, it is. Just not like that.” Did he really trust him to do this? “Get on your knees. Elbows to the mattress. Spread your thighs out so I can see all of you. Now.”

Casey lifted his head and pinned Chuck with a blue stare. Would he? It took forever, but when the larger man finally moved, Chuck nearly sprung backwards, anticipating being held down to the mattress until he saw the error of his ways.

That didn’t happen.

“Okay, now what, Carmichael?” Casey asked, turning on his knees and getting down on his elbows. “Seeing that ... you’re in charge.”

Luckily, Chuck wasn’t facing him any longer, because he was certain the shocked look on his face would humiliate Carmichael to no end.

Casey was serious? He was really going to let him do this?

Well. Hell.

Couldn’t Chuck take care of his boyfriend for once? 

Rising to his knees behind him, the kid ran a hand over that fine ass he knew so well. Just not in quite this manner, a tiny voice in his head reminded him.

“You’ve ... done this before, doll?”

“Yeah, I’ve done it.”

“Really.” Chuck’s brows rose. “When was that?”

“I’m not authorized to discuss it.”

Ah, just perfect. A damn mission. Fucked for an assignment. Like he needed another reason to hate the spy agencies?

“Is that why you brought me here?” Chuck asked, pressing to his backside. The kilt, his only article of clothing, was bunched up on Casey’s waist, affording a perfect view of the muscles along his back, rippling and stretching as he lowered his head. One hand was still on his ass, massaging, touching, so Chuck brought his other palm up to caress Casey’s bare shoulder. He had to ask it. “You wanna ... get fucked?”

“You ever shut up, Carmichael?”

Jesus. He didn’t say no.

Chuck, being as gentle as a man could be, worked the lube in. Tender but firm, because if there was one thing Casey had taught him, it was how to take good care of your partner. “This feels ... wow. This is hot.” Fingers slid deeper. Chuck groaned. “Your boyfriend ever tell you ... you have a beautiful ass?”

“God, kid ....”

“I didn’t – wow. You’re so tight. God, this is perfect.”

Casey was muttering into a pillow. Chuck listened, but there was nothing that sounded like stop.

“Oh.” Chuck pressed a little harder, feeling resistance yet yielding. “This is so – so incredible.”

“Press in a little more ... oh.” This time, it was a groan like Chuck had never heard from his lover, overriding every other sound in the room. Just the depth of it was enough to make his hand still. Then, “Do that again. Not like a fucking wimp, either. Show me what you’ve got. C’mon, Carmichael ....”

Chuck liked to think he was a quick study. At most things, anyway, as long as there was an instruction manual and five to forty-five minutes to read it cover to cover before assembly.

Except there was no manual handy. And no going back.

“I – you do know that I –”

“Carmichael,” and Casey’s voice held plenty of dark menace under the need, “if you don’t get your ass in gear to do what you came here for, blue balls are gonna be the least of your problems.”

“Casey, I don’t think – “

“Anything about me look delicate to you, hot stuff? Fuck me, God damnit. I’m not going to snap it in half –” 

“Well – oh, God. It’s tight.” Chuck breathed out to stop his head from floating. “Are you –”

“I said to lock and load. That is an order, solider!”

“I – okay, okay!”

Chuck closed his eyes and nudged the head inside him. This belonged to him, oh hell it did. All of him. He pressed, and thanked the gods for sunlight and love and sparks behind his eyelids, and Casey holding still and letting him do this.

“Oh God oh God,” Chuck breathed. He worked himself in, almost let go of common sense. But no, he paused, wondering if he should let Casey get used to him. His answer came when Casey pressed steadily back on his cock.

“Yeah, you’re getting it now, sport,” Casey murmured, pushed into him. “Grab my cock.”

“Oh, God. Casey –”

“Push yourself ... into me.” When Chuck did, thrusting his hips, Casey’s answered in an unintelligible noise that meant nothing in words, but spoke volumes of encouragement. “Yeah, good. Now give me something harder than that.” 

As long as Casey was doling out the instructions, Chuck figured he should listen.

He had instinct, clumsy as it was, and a partner who trusted him. The rest was insignificant.

So Chuck gave up the argument and did as he was told.

Carmichael washed up in the bathroom, careful not to get anything else on the grey slacks. As far as he could tell, Casey wasn’t hurting and had no complaints about the performance. Score one for the asshole.

In fact, when Chuck flicked off the light and stepped into the bedroom, he found Casey was now laying on his back with a hand tucked under his head, eyes closed.

Chuck strolled over to the bed, tucking the shirt back in as he peered down at the lax sprawl of his lover. The rumpled sheet sat low on his hips, one long thigh and narrow calf stretched out from under it. The room smelled of sweat and sex, old wood and Casey’s musky aftershave. He thankfully hadn’t washed, and Chuck breathed in the masculine scent of him. Eau de Kick Ass, Chuck had once told him sleepily at night, and when he died, he was sure that was what heaven smelled like.

“You okay, doll?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Casey said in a scratchy voice. He cleared his throat, ran a hand over Chuck’s pant leg. “You?”

“Mm.” What could he say?

The kid’s attention lingered on the slope of his chest, the muscles tapering to his stomach. God, but it was a mouthwatering terrain of curved hard muscle and smooth flesh. All his.

He had to take a taste. Chuck really wanted all of him, but he leaned in, fitted his mouth over Casey’s, and kissed. As he pressed his lips in harder, his hand held Casey’s jaw and throat, controlling the movement, reminding him of who was still in charge until he walked out of there.

Casey suddenly broke the kiss and slanted his head past Chuck’s shoulder. “Shit.”

“What?” Startled by the abruptness, Chuck pulled back to study his face. “Is something wrong?”

“You gotta get out of here, Carmichael,” Casey growled, taking the kid’s wrist to remove his hand. “That’s the nerd.”

“The – oh. Oh!” Chuck bolted backwards, momentarily losing his Carmichael karma. Remembering himself, he let his face relax into a shrewd smile. “That’s my cue, babe.” He dropped a hand to roll his knuckles down Casey’s ribcage, lower to his abs. “God, I’d love to give you another round or two tonight. Too bad, though. I have an unbendable rule about ... men like you.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Chuck stood, but not before pinching him on the cheek. “Always leave them wanting more, doll face.”

“Christ, what a jerk,” Casey said, dragging a hand over his stubble.

Reaching for his suit jacket, Chuck flung it over his shoulder and walked to the door. With his hand on the knob, he started to leave but turned to his boyfriend and shot him a wink. “I had a good time tonight. Maybe I’ll see you sometime.”

The last stop was to grab the paper sack next to the door, stuffed with his costume. After all, the nerdy boyfriend would have to come home as Peter Pan in order to pull this off completely, and when it came to fantasy, the kid liked to think he was a stickler for details. He quickly changed in the bathroom downstairs, rolled up the suit and put it in the bag.

Casey could yell at him about misappropriation and wrinkling of government property later.

Though Chuck still felt his hands shaking, he raised his head and looked in the bathroom mirror at himself. “Wow, Carmichael. You do realize that he could’ve killed you.”

Carmichael put on a swarmy smile and told him they were going out for a coffee. Make Casey wonder where they’ve been.

Technically, it was still Halloween night, but Chuck couldn’t help but feel a bit self-conscious about the green tights. Maybe he could talk Carmichael into drive-through coffee, except then he remembered his car was at The Crossed Swords. Okay, the corner Starbucks it was.

-x-

“Hey, you,” Chuck said softly, shutting the bedroom door. “You fell asleep with the TV on.”

“Mm.” Casey shifted under the covers and ran a hand through his hair before opening his eyes. “What ... time is it?”

“Uh, one thirty,” Chuck answered, smiling at him as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Sorry. We kinda lost track of time –”

“Yeah, what with the excitement of a new expansion pack, I can see how that would happen.” Sarcasm, of course, but his lips formed a sleepy smile. “Hand me the remote, will you?”

Chuck picked it up from the nightstand and turned the TV off for him. The room was quiet and dark now, forcing Chuck to blink until his pupils refocused. After a moment or two passed, it became easier to discern Casey’s sharp features, and when Chuck did, he leaned over him and kissed the side of his sleep-mussed head.

“You took a shower,” the kid said, and he wrinkled his brow. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you. You just smell ... really good.” He breathed in. “Either way.”

“Come to bed,” Casey said drowsily, taking hold of Chuck’s knee.

“I’m going to take a shower, too.” Bending over him, he kissed his warm cheek. “I’ll be quick.”

“You always are,” he heard.

“Hilarious. Really,” Chuck said, but he laughed and kissed him again. Hearing a content sigh, he walked into the bathroom and stripped off the Peter Pan costume, ripping the tights in the process. After the stares at Starbuck’s, he really didn’t think he would wear them again, anyway.

The shower was a quick one since he didn’t have the usual company with him. When he walked into the bedroom, naked and scrubbing a towel through his wet hair, he looked over to see if his boyfriend had fallen asleep again.

“You left the bathroom light on,” Casey said, turning on his side.

“Oh. Sorry. My bad.” Chuck reached around the corner and shut off the light. After he finished toweling off his legs and torso, the kid walked around to his side of the bed and slid under the covers. “Mm. You’re warm.”

“Here,” Casey said. Why he did that every night, Chuck had no idea, but it was always the same. And he loved it. Casey, turning towards Chuck, gently steered the kid onto his side and snuggled him within the space between his shoulders, wide chest to rangy back. So it was no surprise when tonight he did the same, and then protectively spooned around him. 

The surprise came when the thick forearm around Chuck’s waist tightened more than usual. Quite a bit more. His lover let him feel the warmth, but also the restraint of it, the certain possession and reassertion of control he intended to convey in one gesture.

“Casey?” Chuck stammered. “Your, um, it’s ... a little – that’s a bit tight –”

“Are you listening, kid?” he asked, his nose brushing Chuck’s cheek, breath barely ghosting over the hair over his ear.

“Kind of hard not to.” 

“You still want that thing out of your head, don’t you?” 

“What? The Intersect?” Chuck inclined his head, his cheek bumping Casey’s chin. “You – you know I do. Why?”

“Because if you tell anyone what happened tonight, I’ll just do it myself.”

The uh-oh hit him between the eyes. “Are – are you sure you’re the best person for that?” Chuck asked, studying him nervously out of the corner of his eye.

“Sure. Easy,” Casey explained. “I’ll put my fist through your ear, take hold of your brain, and yank the Intersect out through your nose.”

“Um, I hate to be the one to point this out,” Chuck started to splutter, “but the way you just said it there doesn’t sound so easy.”

“It is in my book,” Casey said. He loosened his arm and joggled Chuck. “Got that?”

To be honest, Casey’s threats of bodily harm had lost some of their flair when the two of them began secretly dating. Despite that, the kid knew that Casey would find a way to make his life miserable if anyone got so much as a sniff of this.

“Understood, Major, sir.”

“Wanna drop the sarcasm?”

Chuck decided not to point out the irony, especially as Casey dropped a ‘shut up’ bite on his shoulder. “Ow. Deal,” he said, snuggling back into the heat of his body. “I’ll drop it, but if this is the last time we can ever talk about this, I want to ask you a few questions.”

“Ah, shit,” he heard Casey utter.

“It’s only fair,” Chuck went on, then sensing Casey was about to cave, added, “Please, John?”

Casey blew a breath. “I hate it when you do that, Bartowski. You know that, right?”

“And when it stops working so well, I’ll stop doing it.”

“Make it fast,” Casey said. “You have one minute.”

“Okay.” Chuck waffled, but time was ticking. “Did you ...er, like it?”

“Yeah,” Casey replied after a long silence. “I liked it.”

“You did?” He really thought that Casey had done it to appease Chuck’s curiosity. No other reason but that.

“Are you done?”

“Not – not quite.” Chuck wet his throat, not daring to turn his head to look at him. “Sooo ... do you expect ... me to – you know – do that?”

“God, please shut up.”

“That’s not an answer,” Chuck said, rocking back to give him a little shove.

Casey stayed silent for a long pause. “You aren’t going to forget what I said about the Intersect, are you?”

“No. Still my thirty seconds, isn’t it?”

“Fine. I don’t expect you to do that again. Can we get some shut eye?”

“But – whoa. Hang on.” Confused, Chuck lifted his head and tried to get up on an elbow, but Casey ended that with one flex of the arm around his middle. “Okay, okay, I get it. Revealing, mushy conversations mean no eye contact. Sheesh, you can lighten up. But tell me this. I just thought you said ... you liked it.”

“Everything has to be hard with you, doesn’t it, Bartowski?”

“Again, not an answer. And I swear I still have a few more seconds.”

Casey stalled by pumping a fist into the pillow and settling back in. “Yes, I did like it,” he answered in that low, sexy rumble. “But this –” and his boyfriend shifted his hips forward into Chuck’s backside, spoke with harsh honesty, “I love.”

A smile broke out over Chuck’s face. “Me, too.”

“Can we sleep now?” Casey asked, settling his head in the pillow.

“Should I have worn the costume to bed? You know, since you like to ... change things up a little?”

“You really think I wanna fuck a green elf?”

Chuck gave him a mock-offended look and tried not to laugh. “I’ll have you know that was Peter Pan, not a green elf. C’mon, Casey, you already guessed that. The boy who never grows up?”

“Now that part ... you might be on to something.” Casey used the hand over Chuck’s narrow waist to pull him closer. “I kind of like him right where he is.”

“That’s good news. Considering ... well, he’s not going anywhere.” Chuck pressed back against him, inhaled when his lover answered him with a push.

“Neither am I, kid,” Casey mumbled. “Now will you shut it?”

Chuck closed his eyes, taking the hand that was wrapped around his middle, and linked the fingers with his. “Good night, Case.”

“Yeah.” Casey squeezed his fingers once, lightly, and buried his nose in the kid’s curls. The words were almost too quiet to hear. “Night, doll face.”

Chuck grinned. As he fell asleep, he had to wonder what he could do next year to top this. Well, there was plenty of time to figure it out. He only knew Casey would still be here with him when he did it.

-x-End Just This Once End-x-


End file.
